


The Abomination of Kirkwall's Chantry

by Akaiba



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Disney, Alternate Universe - Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), Anyone who knows the disney film should know what the story entails, Character Development, F/F, F/M, M/M, Major Character Death tag for the Disney Villain of this story, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Touch-Starved, so don't take that too seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiba/pseuds/Akaiba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, Varric Tethras here will tell you. Let me tell you a tale… It’s the tale of a man… and a monster!”</p><p>Rating may change depending on how un-disney this ends up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DashingApostate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate/gifts), [MyDearMadameKirby](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=MyDearMadameKirby).



> I had been writing this as a sort of grief counselling exercise but DashingApostate convinced me to post this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been writing this as a sort of grief counselling exercise but DashingApostate convinced me to post this.

The market was quiet for the morning, but filling slowly as the sun brought all in Lowtown out into the streets. Varric’s cart was already set up, his vibrantly decorated display drawing wide curious eyes from the passers by. It was always the children, Varric hummed to himself, far more open-minded of the strange beardless dwarf and the promise of entertainment. It didn’t matter where it came from to them, it was the adults that took longer to give into their interest. 

 

“It’s beautiful, right?” Varric drawled, leaning slightly out of the cart and gesturing to the chantry. 

 

No matter where you were in Kirkwall, save perhaps Darktown, the chantry dominated the skyline. Varric had always found the sight reassuring, in a way. He was Andrastian at heart, dwarf or not, and he saw the symbol as a reminder of the Maker. It strengthened him. But it was not to the chantry itself he was gesturing. At this hour, as Kirkwall woke and a new day began, the city echoed with music. Bells, to be specific- and Varric rarely was if he could help it. His audience of five grubby children, perhaps orphaned, perhaps not, Fereldan and Kirkwaller alike, were rapt in their attention of the strange storyteller speaking to them. 

 

Varric’s hands gestured slow and languid in their air, listening to the melodic ringing of the bells that soothed him as familiar as his mother’s voice. “There’s a whole army of bells up there; big, little, soft, loud- you name it. All of them ringing every day like clockwork. You ask anyone who’s been to Kirkwall to describe this place and they’ll mention those chantry bells, I guarantee it.” He cocked his head and held back a grin as the smallest girl- he thought it was a girl, human children all looked alike- followed his hand to stare wide eyed at the chantry far above them. He sighed, “Listen… beautiful.” He repeated. Emphasis was key with kids. “But you know, they don’t ring all by themselves!” Flourish and flare, that was Varric’s speciality. None of the kids saw the puppet coming and Varric wanted to congratulate himself on his own stitching. 

 

“They don’t?!” He cried in a soft, high voice as the children smothered giggles.

 

Varric shook his head indulgently at the puppet. “No, look here,” He guided the puppet, and his audience, to look once more at the chantry. More than a few adults had stopped to watch, feigning they weren’t and were actually looking at vendor stalls. “High, high in the dark chantry tower lives the mysterious bellringer!” Oh, he had these kids eating out the palm of his hand. “Well, Varric Tethras here will tell you. Let me tell you a tale…” He drew the puppet closer to his mouth and pantomimed whispering into it’s ear as the children stared. “It’s the tale of a man… and a monster!”

 

\---

 

Hilda clutched her baby to her chest, desperately hushing the squalling bundle as her brother shook her arm. Fear was choking them, her heart hammering in her chest as loud as her son’s cries and making her shake. The tiny boat they were huddled into rocked sharply with each wave as they slipped into Kirkwall’s docks and did nothing to settle Hilda’s already heaving stomach.

 

“Shut it up, will you?” Berthold pleaded.

 

Hilda cupped her son’s face. “Hush, please, little one,” She breathed, flinching as the ferryman whirled around to accuse them of drawing attention. As though Hilda and he weren’t perfectly aware what anyone sneaking into Kirkwall would be accused of. There were few reasons why anyone might run far, and Kirkwall was far from the Anderfels. Hilda was at least grateful that her son was no longer glowing blue with fadelight for every templar in the city to come down upon them- escaping her husband’s wrath had been difficult enough. A cohort of soldiers would be impossible. 

 

Bypassing the bridges and the piers entirely until they reached a point they could step off onto filthy sludge that could be called a shore of sorts. It would be a short journey to the sewers, to Darktown. Where they would be safe, where her _ son _ would be safe, Hilda hoped.

 

As hard as her heart was hammering, she heard the armour but a moment too late. Berthold grabbed her and pushed her behind him, ever the big brother protecting her even as he was wary of her clearly mage son. 

 

They were surrounded. Six templars in the filth of Kirkwall’s dock with them, four more upon the dock itself with bows drawn. There was no escape in front, but as Hilda turned to see how far back the shore ran they had been anticipated. Berthold sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the lone figure astride a horse as fearsome as beast of legend. Broad as a barrell and higher than Hilda could measure by eye, the horse gave gravity to the figure atop it. Gravity that was not needed.

 

“Kight Commander Meredith Stannard!” Berthold breathed her name with such fear, fear that Hilda felt in her bones as she realised who was before her. 

 

A Knight Commander as young as she was unheard of, but her story preceded her. She championed the iron fist that all mage’s should be held by, a beautiful face of chantry might in her armour and her finery- a vision to rival Andraste herself. Beneath that beauty Hilda saw nothing but ice, a heart turned hateful from fear and disdain until there was nothing to be reasoned with.

 

Meredith’s control of the mages under her care, if it could be called such, was infamous. Justice, she called it. Her cruel form of justice gave most pause and was more than enough of an example for how the rest of the circles in Thedas should act. That her actions were questioned was of no concern, she carried too much power. Years past now, word had travelled that the Kirkwall Circle had been made Tranquil all but entirely. Some fled but most were doomed, Tranquil and slave to the chantry sworn to protect them, the previous Enchanter made a figurehead at the chantry building. Here she was, towering over Hilda and her made son, and Hilda saw her son’s death. She had fled Anderfels and her husband, escaped the circle’s clutches there only to watch her child be murdered here?

 

“She has something.” Meredith peered down her elegant nose, regal and powerful, her cold eyes seeing to the heart of Hilda’s fear. “Take it from her.”

 

Hilda ran.

 

She didn’t know Kirkwall’s streets at all, and every time she thought she was lower she wound up turned around and climbing higher. Darktown, she told herself, to Darktown, as though the Maker might guide her to safety and protect her son as he had done thus far. Meredith’s horse proved to Hilda’s advantage as Hilda kept to the alleys and narrower streets, leaping over walls with adrenaline fueling her feet, one hand ever clutching her precious child to her. Her son had fallen quiet now, squirming in protest of the jostling but otherwise still. As her own breath heaved in great lungfuls as she ran it seemed her son and Thedas held a collective breath to see if she would escape. 

 

Turning a corner Hilda found herself staring up at a chantry. A chantry the size of a small village, beautiful and dominating. Perhaps the Maker had guided her after all, she could claim refuge for a night and none would disturb her or her son- it was unusual enough to have a mage present too young, let alone while still swaddled. As long as no templar came near, and they were not often in the chantry at night, she could protect her son. Harbourage would be granted to those seeking it for the night, safety from starvation and cold, the chantry would provide, she prayed. Justice, they called it, as hollow as they word rang when she had seen her son glowing in her arms and knew the injustice’s he would face at their hands.

 

She did not slow as her feet carried her to the closed chantry doors, her bare palm hammering on the aged wood as she screamed out, “Please! Justice, please! Grant me entry, Maker, let me in! Justice!” The whinny of the horse behind her felt like a Blight itself raining down upon her, the door at her back remaining closed to her as she darted to run again. There would be no Justice, not for her and her mage child. She barely got five steps before Meredith was bearing down upon her and Hilda felt herself lurch back.

 

Meredith’s hand had snarled into the fabric of her son’s swaddle, Hilda’s grip on the child no match for the warrior as the baby was wrenched from her grasp. Still, she clung, but Meredith’s leg kicked out. It flung Hilda back, down the stone steps of the chantry and then-

 

When the woman did not move, Meredith deemed the matter resolved. Blood began to seep from where the woman’s head lay, crooked and bent. It ran in thin rivulets down the gray-white stone, pooling thickly under her and spilling down in a steady flow. From the small bundle Meredith had taken from the woman, an infant’s cry came. 

 

“A baby?” She incredulously lifted the infant, pulling back the mishandled swaddling to reveal the squirming child. To her horror, the fade sucked in around the baby and the pale skin split into cracks of blue, raw power itching at Meredith unpleasantly as the baby cried out. “An abomination!” Meredith corrected to herself, steeling herself against the disgust she felt at holding the mage child at all. Possessed. The baby did not even have teeth and already Meredith felt the unbridled power of the fade not even apprentice mage’s could muster. The baby was possessed.

 

Her gaze landed upon a well. Ever did the Maker provide, she thought.

 

“Stop!” Cried Orsino, the figurehead First Enchanter hollered at her. His mockery chantry robes, little more than embroidered mage robes, made him look as though he had sway or power. He did not. Still, Meredith found herself pausing, the screaming infant dangling over the gaping maw of the well. 

 

She sneered as she turned to him, wasn’t it enough she spared him the fate of his charges? He still felt he could question her at every turn, and she sometimes deigned to justify herself to him. “This is an unholy mage, possessed already and not yet even weaned! I am sending it to the Void where it belongs!”

 

Orsino flung a hand to point at the crumpled body of the woman Meredith had struck to the floor. “And she? Was she a mage?! Or do you murder the Maker’s flock in the streets now? On the chantry steps, no less!”

 

“She ran from Justice.” Meredith gave an easy roll of one shoulder, but already she had drawn her horse closer to Orsino, the baby held grudgingly in one arm as she listened.

 

“Now you would add that baby’s blood to your hands! Mages might mean nothing to you but you have killed a woman you would see as innocent- not a mage, or she would have never made it so far, would she Meredith? You wanted to take her into custody, not murder her. Now there is guilt on you conscience.”

 

She bristled and bared her teeth at Orsino in rage, but he had long ago stopped cowing to her. “My conscience is clear!” She insisted.

 

“Lie to yourself, lie to the Divine and the whole Templar order for all I care,” Orsino spat, grief and injustice so beaten into him it made him bold. It straightened his spine to her hate, for what else was left to lose? He was the last circle mage in Kirkwall left. “You’ll never hide what you’ve done from the Maker, Meredith. That woman raised no arms against you, would the Maker be so understanding of this?” Orsino raised a hand to the chantry at his back, the towers reaching for the sky inlaid with so many sculpted faces- all of them peering down upon Meredith and crushing into her with the guilt she refused to feel. “There are none of us can hide what we’ve done from the eyes of the Maker. Even you.”

 

Meredith shifted uncomfortably atop her horse, feeling small beneath the presence of the chantry bearing down on her with the unflinching authority of the Maker himself. Orsino had spilled guilt into her with his words and now she could not shake it, her unfailing righteousness struck to it’s core at the imbalance of the death she had caused to an innocent, and the death she now felt she could not add to it. A mage was no innocent, but it was alive. In the faces of the statues above, Meredith saw the stricken faces of men, women and children, heard the screams they had given pleading for their lives as they fell to her blade- she had been right to annul those who would not kneel to the brand. They had almost all turned to blood magic in desperation, that she pushed was not her fault- and yet the guilt was there. A chance to ease it, she thought, the Maker’s gift of a clean slate was what this was.

 

“It is possessed, it must be put to the sword then when it is old enough.” Meredith offered the child to Orsino, who stepped back with a flat look of emptiness that had not always been there. “Take it in.”

 

“This is your child to raise now. You cannot let the mage go to an orphanage, nor can you pass it off to anyone not equipped to deal with a possible demon.” Orsino offered her an unsympathetically quirked mouth. “What a mess you have, Meredith.”

 

Meredith sneered, “I am to be saddled with this abomination of a-?!” She paused, looking upon the chantry before her. She would not invite an abomination into her home, and yet the Maker’s home was before her. If it were to be the Maker’s will, then the answer was clear. “He will live here.” It was as close to a circle as remained any more.

 

“Here? Where?”

  
“The bell tower, perhaps.” Meredith straightened her spine, the guilt easing around her like a relaxing grip around her throat. “The Maker works in mysterious ways, this abomination might prove to be of use to me before it’s demon overtakes it..” It had such power, she had felt it. If she could harness it, keep it leashed and handled like the qunari kept their mages then possessed or not the mage might be useful for a time. If not, then her sword would be ready.


	2. Chapter 2

Anders swung down from the rafters with a gleeful smile, the rush of the air through his hair almost tasting like freedom on his tongue right before his feet hit the floor. With a new day dawning, however, it was difficult to be too unhappy. The sun was warm on his face as he stepped out onto the balcony, fresh sea air rolling in from the sea just a faint tickle of salt to his sense by the time it reached the towers of the chantry but welcome all the same. 

 

Three statues rose from the balconies edge, carved bodies offering their praises to the maker in their various ways. The cradled arms of one holding close to her bosom was where Anders headed, peeling back the blanket he had tucked there to greet the mewing face of a dusky gray cat.

 

“Hello there, my pretty boy!” Anders cooed to the cat, “Today looks to be the day, doesn’t it Snuffles? A wonderful day to be free and escape from here, don’t you think?” Snuffles regarded him with unhidden disdain for disturbing his sleep but the slow blink was warm as Anders greedily gathered the cat to his chest. The cat was still young, weaned but barely not a kitten, and he purred the moment Anders touched him. “Come on now, snuffles, look around!” Kirkwall looked pretty in the warm orange light of the sun spearing upon the horizon, streaks of gold across the sea that Anders had dreamed of touching so many times. “If I was to pick a day to be free, today would be the day, Snuffles. It’s the Chantry Circle festival!” Anders set the cat down on the balcony edge, watching him uncertainly pad around. “It’s a pretty unpleasant day to commemorate, I guess, mass slaughter and everything, but Meredith saved Kirkwall from the mages who were going to harm everyone else. It deserves to be remembered like this.” Snuffles leapt the short way down to a lower roof and Anders didn’t dare stop speaking to discourage him. “Music and dancing, and people dressed like mages! There’s party tricks and fake magic- sparklers and fireworks and, oh, the one day I get to not feel so- well, anyway, it’s a good day.”

 

Snuffles had moved three roofs away as his curiosity peaked, before Anders silence had him drawing up short. The cat looked back to where Anders was, not far but far enough that it seemed to assure the cat that perhaps the chantry bell tower was not all there was to the world. Anders laughed as the cat began to nimbly clamber down the roofs and ledges, disappearing from sight, before his furry face peered over the edge of a far roof again.

 

“Go on!” Anders encouraged. “No one wants to stay imprisoned here.” 

 

He’s slumping over the balcony before Snuffles disappears fully, watching the cat escape into freedom in a way Anders never can. It is Justice, he thinks, that at least one of them is free.

 

“Well, now how I am supposed to warm my breasts during the night?” Isabela pouted as she stretched out her arms above her heads, the animate stone statue hopping down from the balcony to wink at Anders.

 

Sebastian rolled his eyes but smiled at her as he stepped from the balcony edge with less flourish. “Perhaps wear a scarf?” He offered.

 

“How am I to entice the Maker back to us like that?” Isabela leaned into Anders’ side. “Come on, you agree with me, right, Anders? Say, what are you looking at?”

 

Sebastian peered over the ledge. “Ah! It is the Chantry Circle festival!”

 

Isabela snorted into her hand. “You mean ‘ah, the day where hypocrisy reigns’! At least it usually means more skirts and drinking and fun to watch, Maker knows we need more of that to watch when I’m stuck up here with you and man-hands ruining any chance of even a little fun!”

 

“It is fun to watch.” Sebastian admitted, letting the teasing slide.

 

“Right, ‘watch’.” Anders sighed, moving away from the balcony despondently as Sebastian turned to call after him.

 

“Anders?”

 

Isabela looked at the mage’s retreating back. “Hm, what’s up with him?”

 

The soft thuds of stone footsteps announced Aveline’s arrival as she approached from the far side of the balcony. “No doubt listening to your inane prattle.”

 

“Ah, man-hands. I was wondering where you’d gotten to, or if perhaps you’d fallen from your alcove.”

 

“Shut it, whore. If even your free spirit can’t recognise Anders is upset because he wants to go to the festival, not simply watch it, then I’ve got my proof these years turned to stone have softened your mind.” Aveline did not even pause as she continued passed Isabela and Sebastian to pursue Anders, though the other two statues followed after her in concern for the mage they’d watched grow up. 

 

Anders climbed the steps to where he spent most of his time, when not ringing the bells in delight of the Maker. The old wood creaked under his steps but it was better than silence, Anders would listen to one of Sebastian’s many espousings of the Maker’s blessings over suffering silence if he had to. He sighed as he neared his table, the piled high maps and books and various potted plants haphazardly framed a worn, yellowing and well-loved map of Kirkwall on the table’s surface. 

 

Years ago, Anders had been gifted the map after Orsino had spent a little time with him overlooking the city and answering his many questions about the buildings Anders could not stop asking about. He had memorised every detail of the functions of the shops, of the people and the families who lived there, had watched from above as times passed and adjusted his map in reflection. He had many more maps of wonderful places beyond Kirkwall, places he dreamed of in imaginings from the pages of books he read, but the map of Kirkwall itself was his favourite. He could walk those streets in his mind, take every turn and alley with his eyes closed as he tapped his fingers across the detailed vellum- feeling the breeze through the tower and imagining it was the breeze on the street. The longing was an ache so deep in Anders’ belly and he had thought it would go, he thought that time would ease it, and yet it gnawed at him every moment. Even asleep.

 

**It is unjust.** The thought echoed in Anders mind and it did not feel as though it were his own thought. Meredith had warned him of this, he was an abomination. He had to steel himself against the demon’s temptations of freedom and justice or he would fall prey to it.

 

It made him shiver to think it though, to turn the idea over in his mind that what he had in life was not a gift in itself. There were no free mages, none at all. Orsino and he had been saved, examples of Meredith’s unending mercy. They were proof that not all mages were bad, that they could be raised right in the Maker’s light, but as grateful as Anders wanted to be there was always something itching under his skin. There were always hopes and dreams he could not quell, ideas that made him dangerous. Anders looked down at the map, tracing his fingers over the market square before the chantry and picturing the festival stalls so clearly in his mind. It was as close as he would ever get and he had to accept that.

 

Isabela, Sebastian and Aveline peered into Anders’ homely decorated loft space, exchanging looks at the slumped figure of Anders over his desk. Aveline and Sebastian gave Isabela similar looks of being out of their depth, to which the once-pirate rolled her eyes. Aveline was wrong, she remembered freedom well enough. She longed for it every moment of every day, and yet she had known what it was she had lost to do that. Anders had never been free, but she saw in his distant expressions the same longing she felt- the same longing she knew Aveline and Sebastian felt, even if they hid it better.

 

She moved, heavier footing than she knew she could once accomplish, towards Anders. It was always easier to be a sympathetic ear when there was alcohol, but of course not a drop of that was up here. It was the Maker’s house after all, Sebastian would pitch a fit at them getting drunk in the Chantry even if they did have alcohol, so small blessings for the lack of temptation, Isabela guessed.

 

“Come on, sparklefingers, what’s wrong?” Isabela sat beside him at the table, watching the sweet flush of embarrassment at the nickname. Now there was a time better remembered quietly, but Isabela had so enjoyed it and reverence was not in her nature. Turns our electricity magic can seep through stone just enough, one panicked spell gone awry and Isabela was moaning like it was her third round. Anders shot her a weakly amused smile, flush still tickling his cheeks. They were both of them adventurous, but she had seen the boy grow up- now a man- and there was no erasing years of nappy changing and hand-holding to see him as anything else. She’d almost gotten Sebastian to cave once, though. 

 

“Nothing, not really.” It was true. There was nothing new about the longing Anders felt, that it chafed sharper today was of no remark. Envy, temptation, jealousy- all sins. Anders should be better, he should be good- mage or not, he knew he was good. “I… I don’t think I want to watch the festival today.”

 

“Then the answer is obvious!” She pressed her palms flat to the table as though she were surveying a treasure map, rather than a map of Kirkwall. “Why not go to the festival?!” Isabela’s smile widened at his incredulous expression.

 

“Are you insane? I’m a mage, remember? I wouldn’t fit in out there at all!” He tugged the collar of his robe for emphasis, rolling his eyes at her for even suggesting it. 

 

“The robe comes off, you know.” She winked.

 

“Yeah, the robe does. The magic not so much. Or the… the demon.”

 

**I am no demon. I am Justice.**

 

_ Right _ , Anders thought. _ Just what a demon would say. _

 

Anders got the distinct impression his unwelcome guest was unhappy at that, but did not have an answer. They had been talking more and more of late and it disturbed Anders to welcome it in a sense. At least it was never truly silent, he was never truly alone. Meredith was right, he was weak.

 

“Oh, Justice? That fuddy-duddy? It’d do him some good to go as well, maybe he’ll come back and be fun. For a demon he’s pretty boring.” Anders could only gape at her lazy attitude towards the monster he carried, but then Isabela took very little seriously.

 

“Isabela, I’m dangerous. To everyone.” He told her earnestly. 

 

It broke her heart every time to see he really meant it, that he believed the chains and closed doors were as much for his safety as others. Anders buried his face in his arms and Isabela turned around to give a pleading expression to Aveline and Sebastian. She couldn’t hide her relief as they drew closer, confident steps pushing aside the sad conversation with decisiveness.

 

Aveline rested a firm hand on Anders’ shoulder as she turned a stern eye over the map. “It seems to me that the answer is pretty evident, Anders.”

 

Sebastian inclined his head in agreement when Anders peered out from the wall of his arms to frown at them. “As your guardians, we insist. The festival would be good for you, Anders, and magic or not you would only be away a few hours. You easily go days without incident, you would be safe.  _ They _ would be safe.” Of the three of them, Sebastian was always the more wary and against Anders’ magic, and he condemned the demon in Anders as much as Meredith did, but his assurance that perhaps breaking the rules just once might be alright had Anders stunned.

 

“Sebastian, what are you-... are you alright?” Anders stammered.

 

Isabela sniggered, “Looks like the chantry boy has some balls after all, good for you.” She smirked at his withering look.

 

“Anders would benefit greatly from the experience. He knows in theory that he belongs to the Maker’s flock but he deserves to actually meet the flock, so to speak. One day- one afternoon, really- and then he’ll be back, safe. All the things you will learn, Anders!” Sebastian smiled encouragingly.

 

The pirate groaned, “Oh, save me from another lesson, Maker!” She snapped her fingers as she had a thought. “I’d recommend the drink! And the women! The men, too! Shit, if an afternoon is all you get, go wild, sparklefingers!”

 

Aveline, whose silence had been endorsement enough, pointed a stern finger at him. “Absolutely no magic.” Anders nodded solemnly up at her from his seat. 

 

He knew what happened if he used magic outside of the chantry and Meredith’s sanctioned rules, he had no intention of joining the ranks of empty tranquil that served the chantry below his feet. He was happy to serve, grateful to live, but he would not give up his feelings even if it would put an end to the longing.

 

“Of course he won’t, now! Come on!” Isabela tugged Anders from his seat, her cold stone fingers warming under his touch as his own hand closed over hers around his arm. 

 

“You’re all forgetting something.” At their blank faces he sighed. He pulled away from Isabela’s hands and curled them in around himself as remembered pain flared across his back. “My Mistress; Meredith.”

 

He watched their faces fall and memories crept back in each of their eyes. Anders remembered their tender, gentle hands after. He remembered them patching him up, remembered watching Sebastian pour over Anders hoarded books on healing and herbs to cobble together anything to prevent infection. The lashes were deep and they would scar, of that there was no doubt, but Anders’ limp elfroot plant had kept him just the right side of a serious infection. He’d have died without them.

 

Anders had only been found on the steps of the chantry. By his reckoning, he was still obeying the rules. A technicality, of course, and not one Meredith agreed with. He still had nightmares about the pain and… and his punishment after. He had been a child at the time and the cold stone cell became a feature in his disciplining after that; when he disobeyed, he was locked in the cell. Cold and small, no light and no sound. Nothing in his head but the demon who whispered to let him take over, to let him tear down the door and free them. He had never given in but he also never challenged Meredith’s wrath if he could help it.

 

“Ah…” Sebastian’s mouth twisted in unpleasant thought before adding, “Well… then perhaps subterfuge? Isabela?”

 

Shs was already rooting through an old trunk of clothes, “A disguise, brilliant! They can’t catch you if they don’t know it’s you! And if they can’t catch you, Meredith will never know!”

 

“Oh no…” Anders was already shaking his head.

 

Aveline folded her arms, “One afternoon, Anders, you can do this.”

 

“I c-couldn’t!”

 

“You sneak out, with your charming climbing who needs stairs? And then you sneak back! It’s perfect! Meredith won’t ever know you were gone and you just steer clear of where she is during the festival, and you’ll be fine!” Isabela triumphantly hefted a cloak from the trunk with a flourish.

 

“I-if I got c-caught-!”

 

“Would it be worth it?” Aveline paused then, holding out a hand to still Isabela as they turned to look at Anders. It was no secret how much that escape, and the punishments that followed, had broken the boy they knew. There was only so much they could do to care for him and with Meredith being Anders’ keeper they couldn’t push him to defy her when it was not them who would face her wrath.

 

“I-I…” Anders wrapped his arms around himself as he remembered each beating lash, the pain he had suffered for just the breath of fresh air while his feet touched the ground. Had it been worth it? Anders wanted to say nothing would be worth that suffering, that he’d learned his lesson and would never defy Meredith again. But perhaps it had not been worth it for only having stood on the chantry steps… perhaps it would be worth it to attend the festival? His heart flared with hope and desire at the thought of going to the festival, of walking through throngs of people and seeing their faces, touching their hands! Maker, of course that would be worth it! “I don’t…”

 

Isabela sighed again, scrunching her nose at Aveline for ruining the excitement of the moment but the stern woman was right. This was Anders’ choice to make because it would be his punishment to bear if everything went wrong. “Maker willing… Meredith never sees you. You have a wonderful afternoon and you come back- the end. But if she sees you…” Isabela swallowed hard. “No one wants to stay imprisoned here, you said that yourself.”

 

“He is coming back.” Sebastian frowned at Isabela. 

 

“Of course, because he’s a good man doing the right thing- but if I had my way, you’d run far away from here, sweet thing.” Isabela cupped Anders’ face, rough stone thumbs smoothing over his cheeks. She would love to show him Kirkwall herself, to watch his face delight in every new wonder and sight, to see the world anew with him. She would keep him safe if she could. She had a reputation to uphold, of course, but she guessed her warmth for Anders was pretty obvious to Sebastian and Aveline and who else was there to pretend for? Better to be honest to Anders and show him he was loved and he was worthy of it. “But nevermind my fantasies, hm? What do you think?”

 

Anders took a long, slow breath. He could easily go the afternoon without using magic, much as he did enjoy his magic he didn’t use it recklessly. Sometimes the fear of his own self was so great he didn’t want to use it at all. He would not dare let Justice take over where he might hurt anyone, he was stronger than the demon and he knew it.

 

It was just one afternoon… if he was caught he would have all those memories to have made it worth it.

 

“You’re right…” A hesitant smile curled one corner of his mouth at the three proud faces his guardians gave him at his decision. They thought he was strong enough, they thought he could do this, and it gave him the strength to believe he could as well. “I can wear my robe and not be looked at strangely for it today, I can hide my face in a hood and Meredith won’t notice me, I could even take the stairs like that!” He felt giddy with apprehension and excitement, bubbles of nerves in his stomach as he strode in more certain circles around the three statues. “I-I could- Maker, I could!”

 

He turned around to face his guardians and the smile on his face froze in fear. 

 

Meredith. 

 

She raised an eyebrow coolly at him, peering down her nose as Anders hunched in on himself and avoided her gaze. She had to raise her head to accomplish it as Anders was still taller but it only made her look more regal. Age had defined her, not weathered her, and she walked as though the Maker himself raised her up above everything around her. Her armour, polished until it gleamed in the sunlight by Anders’ own hands, glittered ethereally and lent to the idea that she was exactly that- the Maker’s chosen. His justice upon Thedas. 

 

“M-Mistress…” He choked, falling to one knee in fealty.

 

Her gaze slid from him to the now frozen statues beside him. They had made Anders swear never to tell Meredith about them being animate. At best, she would think him mad and act accordingly as she saw with a mad mage, at worst, she would deem the statues blood mage artifaces and have them destroyed. Then they would never be free again. It was easier for Meredith to simply believe him so deprived of company that he would talk to anything at all with a face and ears to listen, even if they were stone. 

 

“While it is good you are not talking to the demon within yourself, that you are taking to things that cannot talk back is cause for concern.” Meredith surveyed the statues critically, her usual basket of gifts for Anders passed to him without even looking at him. “Should I have these removed so as to remove the temptation of madness from you?” The lilt of her tone did not need an answer but Anders prayed with everything he had that Meredith would not take them.

 

He busied himself with setting the table, willing his hands to steady themselves. Her goblet and engraved plate, his wooden set, placed atop the small table as he waited for her to sit before he could. She hummed in thought to herself as she took her seat, uncorking the wine she had brought and filling her cup and his, though his was a far smaller amount. Not that he minded, Justice seemed to get upset when he drank any amount at all. 

 

Meredith sipped her wine a moment before speaking. “I would like you to remind me of why today is important, Anders.” Anders hushed the grumbling of Justice in his mind as Meredith raised the game she played every year since he had been a child. He would complete the sentence as she spoke, it had been an alphabet game of sorts when he was younger, but now she used to to remind him of the sombreness of why the Chantry Circle festival was necessary. “You are an…”

 

“Abomination.” 

 

“In the eyes of the Maker, your existence is a…”

 

“Blasphemy.”

 

“You must serve the Maker and redeem yourself with the…”

 

“Chant.”

 

“You must not lose control to your…”

 

“Demon.” Justice flared sharply but Anders did not waver. Meredith paused a moment, searching his eyes for the shameful flash of blue that she waited for to prove his weakness. He assumed it did not come as she continued.

 

“The Maker will never offer you his…”

 

“Embrace.”

 

“You must beg for the Maker’s…”

 

“Festival.” The word slips free unbidden and Meredith goes rigid, her attention fixed onto him at the mistake. He feels small and helpless beneath that gaze, panic rising as she lowers her cup. “F-forgiveness!” There is no way he can cover the error but fear makes him try anyway.

 

“You want to go to the festival.” Meredith’s shrewd intelligence sees through him, piercing into his shameful thoughts and wants, laying him bare and proving him to be exactly as weak and selfish as she told him all mages were.

 

“Mistress, I-I…!”

 

“Do not lie to me, boy.” She snapped, rising from the table.

 

“Never, mistress! I-it’s just… I-I… I see you attend every year-” He hurried beseechingly after her.

 

“My duty is to the Maker, boy, but I am a public official- I must attend! It is no enjoyable task, it is a shallow, twisted excuse for revelry in the name of the once proud circle Kirkwall had, that I was forced to bring to heel! You believed I can enjoy a moment of the city parading around as a mockery of mages everywhere I look? That it is anything but an unpalatable display I endure?” She cast a disdainful sneer at him as she moved out onto a rooftop, surveying the city over the balcony edge with the same cruel look. “It is the worst of human nature!”

 

Anders followed her meekly, wringing his hands as he apologised, “I am so sorry, mistress.”

 

Meredith rested a hand upon the stone balcony edge, her proud shoulders falling a fraction with her disappointment. Her rage at least was bearable, but her disappointment? When all Anders ever did was to appease her? It brought him low in shame and guilt as once again he proved himself to be every bit the proof of a weak mage. “Anders, your mother gave you up to the sword as a baby. An already possessed, wretched abomination she couldn’t abide and it was I who gave you mercy. You were a child, one I took in and raised as my own, I raised you to be a better mage than any before you, yet you think I lock you away up here to keep you from the world? This is my thanks for my mercy? My generosity?”

 

Anders clasped his hands beseechingly at her, moving as close as he dared to without inciting her anger. “Mistress, forgive me, I am sorry.”

 

“You have no idea what lies beyond these walls, boy.” Meredith rested her palms on the stone edge before them as she spoke. “Mages are dangerous, they cannot be trusted, but you are here as much to protect them as you are to be safe from them. This festival is no embrace of magic, Anders, it is damnation of it! They would drag you out and demand I cut you down were they to know I allowed an abomination shelter in the chantry! Would you have me do that? Have me put my sword to the boy I raised as my own son?”

 

“No, mistress,” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

 

She gripped his collar, armoured fingers tight against him as she turned him to face her. “I am all you have, boy.” Meredith shook him for emphasis. “I am all that stands between you and the mob that would have you dead, do you understand?! I keep you safe, I feed you, dress you, educate you- I give you the chance to redeem your abomination self in the Maker’s eyes! I am not afraid of you, but they are. How can I protect you from them if you leave this place?” Her fingers clasped under his chin, forcing his bowed head to meet her gaze. “You are an abomination.” His eyes fluttered shut at the word, it cut deep as it ever did, but the truth of it was more bitter than anything. “Outside these walls you are a monster.”

 

“I-I… I am a monster.” Anders repeated dutifully. Meredith’s eyes were narrowed but approving and prompted him to add, “I must stay in the chantry.” She nodded and drew away from him. Her absence left him cold and adrift, the need for her approval making him want to rush to her and grovel, but he stayed obediently still as he watched her leave him. “I am sorry, mistress,” He whispered, but in the silence of the tower it carried to her ears.

 

Meredith halted at the top of the stairs, perceptive as ever to his shame. “I forgive you. I will always forgive you, Anders. It is the Maker and those beyond these walls who will not.”

 

Anders did not move until she was gone. The moment she left he fell to his knees and saw the fissures of fadelight erupting on his skin. 

 

**This is unjust!** Justice roared. Anders had barely kept him back while Meredith had been watching but he could not hold the spirit entirely. It was Anders who moved but his control was clutched to a mere thread. **You do not deserve this!**

 

“I am grateful! This is enough!” He insisted through gritted teeth, dimly aware of the statues rushing toward him and yet warily hanging back. In fear. They trusted him, but they feared his demon. As any sane person would. It seemed a fanciful dream to consider walking the streets below, something to tease and yearn for, but the reality? He would not survive more than a few days at best, he would slip. His magic would reveal him and they would kill him. He believed Meredith about that without doubt.

 

**You do not even ask for days, you ask for an afternoon!** Justice snarled, near insensate with fury. 

 

Anders weathered the bite of the demon’s rage until Justice gave up vying for control and Anders could breathe again. He heaved desperate lungfuls of air as Isabela rested a cool stone palm against the back of his neck. 

 

“I am so sorry, Anders.”

 

The mage dragged his eyes from his hands upon the floor, assured he was not about to lose control again, to look at her. 

  
“Get the cloak.” 


	3. Chapter 3

The map Fenris had been given was next to useless when Kirkwall’s Lowtown was so incomprehensibly warrened as to be near unintelligible. Perhaps if he could parse the squiggles of letters on the page or read the street signs around him, he might have a better idea of understanding where he was. He scrunched the map as his frustration mounted at his own failings, tossing it aside with a disgusted look. It would have served better kindling for a fire than a guide to the City of Chains.

 

Two templars crossed his path and he called to them, “Can you direct me to the Gallows of Justice-...” 

 

He was ignored, and while he understood the little regard most humans had for elves, he was not so certain he would have been met with the same disdain if not for the thick cloak obscuring his armour and sword. Intimidation did wonders for the respect he had to demand from those who dared to underestimate him. Fenris rolled out his shoulders, tired as he was from travelling, but did not pursue the templars. A gentle tug of Pavali’s reins had them moving again as Fenris settled for finding his own way to the Gallows. It wasn’t as though his summons had specified a time, so he was expected at leisure and he could familiarise himself a little with the city he would be home to for a while. 

 

The city itself was layered, as most were, with Lowtown being where most of the peasantry and common folk lived. It was alive with activity in the late morning and Fenris could hear music, lively and vibrant, from street performers before he even turned the corner. He saw a young human child clapping his hands delightedly at the music first, watching as his mother pulled him away and hissed him to stay away from the ‘thieving refugees’. It appeared elves were not the only ones lesser in this city. Fenris felt his eyebrows creeping up in surprise at the sight of a mabari dancing nimbly about a hat. No doubt it was guarding the coins tossed into the hat fiercely, but the mabari- male, apparently, after that inelegant roll across the dusty floor- appeared to be more than happy with his lot as he leaped about to the music. It drew an unbidden quirk of amusement to Fenris’ mouth and for that alone he tossed a few coins into the hat. The refugees had it hard, fleeing from the Blight in Fereldan they had not been well received at any port they escaped to, but Fenris saw no harm in this performance. It was an honest living, and probably the only one they had with such open prejudice. 

 

Looking up from the mabari, who barked at him in thanks, Fenris saw the dancers. There were two, one elven and one human. Both women had instruments, the elf a flute and the human a tambourine, as they danced in alluring turns that jangled their decorated clothing. Fenris was fixed by the human’s gaze as she span around to smirk at him. Everything about her was sensual and open, from the cant of her hips to the upwards curl of her mouth as she turned to gaze at him over one uncovered shoulder. Fenris swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry at the appraising look she gave him. He fought the urge to shift under that look, straightening up and meeting her look with a raised eyebrow. The woman was beautiful, that much was obvious from one look, but Fenris was drawn to the spark in her eyes that spoke of there being more to the refugee than met the eye. 

 

A dwarven boy with pale blonde hair and striking blue eyes appeared atop the wall behind them, a giggle in his voice as he cried, “Enchantment!”

 

The entertainers startled but they did not freeze. The woman and elf pair dropped into a fighting stance that had Fenris reassessing his simple guess of there being more to the woman and broadened it to perhaps more to all of them, and perhaps a survival instinct he was familiar with. The mabari dropped to the floor and snatched the hat up in his teeth, missing the other lip of the brim as he began to run, scattering coins everywhere. Coppers, mostly, but enough to feed more than just the group who had been playing for a week. 

 

The woman had the elf’s hand and they were already running when the skitter of coins on the floor drew the woman up short. She pushed the elf to keep running when the elf stopped as well, the human darting back to snatch up the coins from the floor with deft fingers. 

 

The templars who had passed Fenris before without even looking in his direction stormed around the corner. Before Fenris could blink they had her cornered and outnumbered. He would have guessed there being no honour amongst thieves at how she had been left alone but he had seen how she shooed them all away, there was a leader and a protector in her and Fenris admired her for it.

 

“That’s an awful lot of money for a Fereldan to have.” One templar drawled, towering over her as she tried to hold the hat and it’s contents into her side. 

 

She matched his disdainful sneer with one of her own. “Ah, Alrik, so good to see you keeping the peace. I earned this money, legally and fairly.”

 

Alrik leaned into her space, his fingers grasping at the hat as she snatched it free. The second templar had moved behind her and grabbed her shoulders. “Marian, wasn’t it? What would a Fereldan know of legal and fair? You thieve and you beg and Kirkwall is all the worse for you Blight upon our city.” 

 

“Hawke.” She corrected sharply. “So, the lecherous way you hound me is to protect the city from me thieving.” Hawke’s face curled in contempt as Alrik’s coloured in anger. 

 

He gripped her collar. “Fereldan bitch,” He spat. They thought they had her pinned and did not see her leg coming as she leaned back into the templar behind her and kicked Alrik back. His hold did not break and he dragged her closer, hot breath on her face as he hissed, “I have ways of bringing you to heel, wretch.”

 

Hawke’s mabari darted from where it had been circling the templars, taking out the one holding Marian from behind with a vicious tackle. Fenris did not envy the man the brute strength behind the teeth and claws that had him pinned but the mabari turned instead to headbutt Alrik. Below the belt, where his templar armour did not extend below the skirt completely, the thick skull of the war hound connected with Alrik’s groin and sent the man to his knees in agony. 

 

Hawke surveyed the fallen men but wasted not time as she leaped over their crumpled bodies, slipping passed Fenris with a wink and disappearing down an alley with her mabari at her heels. The men struggled to their feet with pained complaints and as amused as Fenris was, he could not waste the opportunity for a little petty revenge himself. He lit his brands and phased by the templars, tripping them as he went so that they fell once more into the dirt and filth upon the street. Hawke was long gone now but this was perhaps more about the snide way they had ignored an elf asking for directions and the unpleasant way he had seen them treat refugees. 

 

“Pavali, sit.” Fenris ordered softly, the horse obeying his command immediately as she settled her rear upon Alrik’s back. 

 

Fenris smirked at the snarling the man gave, imagining Pavali was as amused as he was with the flat way she regarded Fenris. She was unperturbed by the people starting to gather as they watched the humiliated templar. 

 

“Remove your horse, you knife-ear!” The younger templar recruit cried, standing in defence of Alrik and drawing his sword to face Fenris. 

 

Fenris threw back his cloak as he drew his own sword, brands humming as they shone bright for all to see. His two-handed sword outmatched the templar’s in size and the easy way he hefted it’s mass to hold out ready had the recruit halting in his advance. It was then, however, the standard issue guard armour revealed his ranking within the city and the templar paled. 

 

“G-Guard-Captain…” Word had gotten round of his instatement, it seemed. The recuit looked about to soil his smalls in the realisation of how he had just insulted Fenris. He might not have belonged to the Guard, but Fenris’ authority was significantly higher than that of a mere templar recruit and he could only sheath his sword and bow in apology. Fenris did not accept it.

 

Instead he rested the tip of his sword before Alrik’s face still pressed to the city street and watched him crane his neck to look up the length of it to the elf towering over him. As he himself had towered over Hawke moments before. Alrik did not seem to like the positions reversed. “The Gallows of Justice. Where is it?” He barked, voice low and brooking no argument. He was tired and did not seem to be making a new home in a particularly open-minded city but there was satisfaction in exercising his newfound role. Fenris was good at what he did, that he was an elf only seemed to be of remark to others, and apparently while word had gotten round of a new Guard-Captain it had not included that he came with pointed ears. The first one to compare him to a rabbit or a cat would be locked in stocks, he swore it.

 

Alrik and the shame-faced recruit politely escorted him to the Gallows without further incident and Fenris was amused to see more than a few sniggers directed at the embarrassed men. 

 

Hawke peered out from the hood she hid herself within as she watched the new Guard-Captain and the templars depart, cocking her head curiously at the strangely painted elf. He was not at all what she expected from someone in his position of power, and she was still stunned by how he had turned the tables on the templars when he needn’t have stepped in at all. 

 

“Hawke, are you alright?” Hawke turned to see Merrill carefully stepping out from the shadows. Of course she had not returned to Darktown where she would be safe and had instead come back for Hawke. “Oh! Varric said he has word for you, and a letter came from his contact in Tevinter.” Merrill tapped her chin thoughtfully as Chip nudged Hawke from her thoughts. There were a thousand things she need to concentrate on and none of them were the intense looking elf guardsman. 

 

Hawke stood, squeezing the dalish elf’s hand in reassurance as she pulled the hat from under her cloak. “I’m just fine, Merrill.” She smiled warmly at her friend. “We’ll go see him right away, but first let’s see if we can get some decent food, hm? Carver might even crack a smile if we bring him home some sausages.” Hawke glanced back over her shoulder to the strange Guard-Captain but he was long gone now, and her mind turned instead to her family and a way she might better care for them than dancing for coins in the streets.

 

\---

 

The Gallows of Justice was an intimidating building. Everything about it had been designed for that effect, repurposed as it was from an old Tevinter fortress. Statues of screaming and pleading slaves arched from the walls and towers overhead, even the gate Fenris had entered through. It was fitting, Fenris thought, that it had once been the home of mages as Kirkwall’s Circle. There was a certain irony the tevinter elf found in the turnabout of it, but he could find no comfort in the bronze faces pleading down at him in the courtyard so he kept moving.

 

He had stopped hiding years ago and instead determined that power was his ally, not the shadows. Tevinter’s reach was great and there was much Danarius would do to reclaim his escaped slave, so Fenris readied himself for the eventuality with power and authority and notoriety. The more known and regarded he became, the more difficult Danarius’ task became. It was one thing for an elf to go missing, quite another for a Guard-Captain. Kirkwall had no Viscount but Knight-Commander Meredith was the city’s ruler in all but official appointment and she had selected Fenris herself. ‘Exemplary’ her letter had called him. His skills and capability preceded himself and Fenris felt it permitted to feel proud of that. Fenris’ ex-slave status was not widely known but he doubted Meredith unaware of it so she had chosen him knowing the ties he had-unwanted or not. Let Danarius try to take down all of Kirkwall to get to him now, for that was what Fenris had at his disposal. 

 

It was this he assured himself with as he passed into the Gallows proper and followed Alrik into the bowels of the dungeons. 

 

The dungeons were greatly occupied as Fenris became increasingly aware of the stronger hold the templar order had over law enforcement. Most of the inmates looked Fereldan and not a one of them could meet his eye. His stomach turned and his brows drew down at the uneasy feeling this place gave him. 

 

Where Alrik led him he heard a lash being struck. His first sight of Meredith was of her supervising the lashing with a critical eye, almost sounding fond when she called the templar to halt his strikes. 

 

“Maleficar are clever, templar. Clever but weak. You must strike not to a rhythm or they will find solace in expecting each blow. Strike with pauses of differing length, strike softer then harder- do not let them adjust.” She instructed the templar who saluted her wisdom before setting to his task again. Meredith turned to Fenris as the screams of the prisoner echoed between them. “Ah, Guard-Captain Fenris, I presume?”

 

He inclined his head, refusing to flinch at the sounds of the whip cracking and the screams that followed. It reminded him too much of Tevinter but he reminded himself that the man inside Meredith had called Maleficar and a mage was more deserving of that whip than a slave, there was justice in that. “Reporting in as ordered, Knight-Commander.” He answered.

 

“Your work with the fog warriors precedes you, Guard-Captain. You are experienced in dealing with the mages of Tevinter and as such I expect you will lend a much needed perceptive eye to the guards of this city.” Fenris elected to say nothing to that but his time with the Fog Warriors did not end as triumphantly as Meredith exulted it as, but word of that was unlikely to travel. Generally for word to travel there had to have been witnesses alive to tell it and Fenris felt cold guilt damning him that there had been no soul left breathing when he left. Danarius would pay for that. “The last Guard-Captain was a disappointment to me, rather a… stone-faced woman,” Meredith’s lip quirked at a joke that Fenris did not understand. “But hunting out apostates requires a sterner heart to their wiles. They are not people, after all, but monsters in waiting.”

 

Fenris followed as she led him from the darkened corners of the dungeon, up through the Gallows and higher into one of the building’s towers. If it was meant to be a tour of sorts then it was a poor one as Meredith offered no comment on any of the rooms or wings, but she halted when they were upon a balcony over the city. It was a beautiful view of Kirkwall out to the sea and beyond but Meredith’s face was one of firm distaste.

 

“This city can boast no free mages, it’s people can live in peace without fear of them, and yet we are in a dark hour. They stir again beneath the streets, festering like an open wound as they crawl up to threaten Kirkwall once again.” Meredith gave Fenris  an expectant look.

 

He frowned in confusion, “Ma’am?”

 

“The refugees, Guard-Captain.” Her tone was strained at his lack of comprehension. She drew his attention to the streets below, to the faint sound of familiar music. Even this high up Fenris could pick out the red sash Hawke had worn around her waist as she danced once more. “Fereldan’s king is a slow-witted fool. He granted freedom to Fereldan’s circle and their mages are like a second blight upon the rest of Thedas. With their own fleeing the Blight they have come here, Fereldan’s filling Kirkwall’s slums and sewers and among them? Apostates.” The word fell from her mouth with dripping disgust as her eyes followed the street performers below. 

 

Fenris began carefully, “Kirkwall’s control of it’s mages is legendary, you believe Fereldan mages would come here despite this?”

 

“I know it.” Meredith insisted. “Catching them, however, is the more difficult task. I have done what I can to seize and punish the ones I can, setting them to the brand or the sword when a mage is uncovered, but it is a paltry answer and not the solution. They must be expunged from the heart.”

 

“You mean… to capture all of the refugees. To weed from them all which are the mages and which are not.”

 

Meredith smiled approvingly at him. It was not a reassuring smile. “The wheat from the chaff.” She inclined her head. Fenris saw the logic of it, mages were adept at hiding in plain sight this far south and there was no way to be sure without proper testing from a templar whether someone was simply lying or not. It was difficult, however, to reconcile how he had seen the templars treating the street performers mere hours again and still feel it was simply justice. But things that were necessary were rarely easy to stomach, Fenris knew that. “I find myself assured you will do the right thing in ferreting them from Darktown’s depths.” She rested a hand upon his shoulder that he fought not to shake off. “Today’s festival will illustrate the severity of the situation for you.”

 

“Ma’am?”

 

“It is the annual celebration of the circle’s destruction here in Kirkwall, but since the refugees have arrived it has become little more than a drunken and debauched farce, rife with apostates no doubt. Perhaps you might begin your time here in Kirkwall by capturing a few.” 

 

Fenris drew his gaze from the city sprawling below them, his eyes lingering over the Chantry dominating the horizon, to Meredith as she drew him no doubt to the festival she had mentioned. The unease of her nature would not leave him but the seriousness with which she took mages was a welcome echo of his own sentiments and he could not help feeling he had chosen the right place to come to. Danarius might not see Kirkwall as a threat to him but today was already proving that the templars here were more than ready to cut down any mage that surfaced here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders goes to the festival. It does not go well.

Anders could not allow himself to falter once he had determined he would go. Isabela fastened the cloak around his neck, pulling the thick hood over his face, and then he was swinging over the edge of the balcony. Agility was not something that came easily to Anders but necessity had given him some skilling clinging deftly to thin ledges when he needed to navigate the more precarious areas of the bell tower. He had more than a few scars from scraped knees and hard falls in his youth but now he was adept at it. He dropped down to a lower level alcove, pressing himself into the shadow of a statue of Andraste, praying the Maker would understand the intimate way he was clutching the carved statue of his wife as he peered down to the festival-goers below. He could make out such details on their faces, aching to run in among them as the parade began. Anders could feel his heart pounding at the sensory overwhelmment- the colours, the sounds, the smells, each one unique and clutched tight. He dared not even blink or he might miss another memory. It almost felt as though Justice were amused at his naive wonder, but blessedly the demon stayed silent and calm as Anders vibrated with excitement. 

 

The parade had been a recent addition to the Chantry Circle festival that the refugees had brought with them. It was one that Anders enjoyed, however, as it cast the gruesome day into more of celebration of magic that Kirkwall seemed to revel in for just one day. With the crowds distracted by the emerging procession it allowed Anders to navigate his way down the rest of the chantry building to join them, without anyone spotting him. It gave him courage that this would work. He could have this and it would be his secret, Meredith need never know and he could treasure the knowledge that he had been among the city, not hurting a soul. 

 

The parade itself was led by a brightly dressed, beardless dwarf. He announced the dancers and heralded the beginning of the festival as he leaped onto a barrel of ale to swing his arms wide. “My, my, my, I see a lot of mages out there…” He mock scolded, pointing to one ridiculously dressed man Anders knew to be a baker, now festooned in feathers and poorly stitched robes. The man mimed casting a spell and the dwarf laughed along as the merriment rippled out through his captive audience. He snatched a tankard from a passing server and lifted it high. “Let the fun begin!” He jumped from the barrell and landed near to where Anders stood peering out at the dwarf from under his hood. He pressed the tankard into Anders’ hands as the crowd carried him off with the procession, leaving Anders with a frothing tankard that looked… interesting. He lifted it to his lips.

 

**No.** Justice said firmly.

 

_ But- _

 

**No.**

 

_ Just one?  _ The meek hope in his voice must have been pathetic enough as Justice mentally sighed and there was a pause. 

 

**One.**

 

Anders grinned as he lifted the drink to his mouth. It was foul, he realised, drawing the tankard away and choking on the sharp, bitter flavour of the ale on his tongue. It was cool to drink but warm in his belly when he swallowed, and not be defeated Anders determinedly drank more of it as he sheepishly followed the parade. He was not the only one drinking, either.

 

Kegs had been cracked upon and the ales and beers flowed freely, some cheap wines being passed around for people to swig from. Gaudy costumes and caricatures of what the people thought mages to look like surrounded him, not a one of them paying his patchy blue robes any notice at all. He caught the eye of a dancing girl who lunged for him, dragging him into her loop as she spun him around in a wide circle. Anders’ feet clumsily tripped him up and his arm slipped from the girl’s grasp as he tumbled back and right into one of the many tents set up around the square. Most were stalls but all Anders could see as he fell back were heaps of red hanging fabric as he reached out to save himself and tore a divider curtain down upon himself. 

 

A mabari barked loudly at the intrusion as Anders lay frozen on the floor, certain he would be caught now as a woman’s voice cried out in alarm. She would no doubt call a templar and they would take him to Meredith. He shook in fear as he struggled with the curtain over him, scrambling away from the woman as he saw her barefeet approach him, fingers pulling the hood lower over his face. 

 

“That was a pretty bad fall, are you okay?”

 

Anders curled away from her, “I-I didn’t mean to- I swear, I wasn’t- I am sorry.”

 

She took his hand and Anders felt his whole arm tingle from the contact. Her hand was warm, her fingers calloused from work but gentle as they helped him up. “You don’t look hurt.” She assured herself, she tipped his face up so that she could peer at his face in the hood, Anders rigid at the contact. “And I’m not naked, so no problem. No honour to uphold, see?” She chuckled to herself as Anders simply stared at the beautiful woman before him in nothing more than a bathrobe, touching him unafraid and happily. 

 

The mabari barked, warmer this time at his owner’s calm. One corner of Anders’ mouth quirked up in awe of her as she patted his shoulder and showed him to the ten flap. 

 

“Maybe you should hold off on the ale for a bit, the festival’s only just started.” She winked at him as she bid him goodbye, “Nice mage robes, you make a dashing apostate.” Anders was still stood smiling in a daze at the tent flap after it fell closed behind her and he was one again swallowed into the festival celebrations. 

 

More ale flowed and despite Justice’s grumblings Anders was having too much fun to pay the demon any heed at all, dancing with gleefully drunk men and women all in robes who touched him and fluttered their eyes at him, offered him foods he’d never tasted before and wine that made his head spin with warmth. He did not see Meredith’s carriage arriving or her taking her customary seat to watch the festivities. Fenris bid his guards to filter out amongst the people and keep the carousing from getting out of hand, but none of this Anders noticed as the dwarf from before took to the central stage. 

 

“I’d say this is the most fun Chantry Circle festival yet!” He opened with, and Anders was guilty of staring a little too intently at the dwarf’s gapingly displayed chest hair until Justice scolded him for it. “Varric Tethras, at your service, but I know what you’re all waiting for!” He clapped his hands at the cheering and stamping feet, riling the crowds up more in the excitement. “What an array of talent awaits you, but first! I invite you to wonder and look upon in awe at the most beautiful woman in all of Kirkwall!” Varric’s voice raised about the whooping cries of delight, “Shout louder, make her feel welcome and wanted- I give you: Marian Hawke!” Varric’s fist raised above his head and flung down to the floor.

 

As Varric uncurled his fist a flash of thick, purple smoke engulfed him. It cleared in a breath and in Varric’s stead stood the woman from before. Hawke was dressed now, the gown of clinging red and gold shaping her figure so clear as to be indecent. It hung from her shoulders and flared with her movements- of which there were many. A dip of one shoulder as she turned, the mesmerising swivel of her hips as she raised a leg and kicked it high, the tease the dress sliding higher up her leg, the tantilisingly low cut of cleavage- it was enchanting. Anders might have been overcome with the sight but it was gratifying to see he wasn’t the only one.

 

Meredith had been impassively watching the display until Hawke appeared, the flashy show peaking her instinct for magic, only to go still at the woman upon the stage. Her every movement was illicit and deviant, her hooded eyes and pouting mouth as her body moved in debauched stretches and spins upon the stage had Meredith gritting her teeth in rage. Temptation, the Maker had warned of it. Of demons that came in velvet wrappings and lustful desires. “Disgusting…” Meredith breathed. Fenris heard her but did not agree, eying the dance upon the stage with an entirely different appraisal. He shifted in his saddle as Hawke met his gaze and grinned widely, catching him in his study of her… personage. 

 

In three astounding leaps she pirouetted, vaulted from the stage, and finally landed before Meredith herself. The crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ in astonishment of her act, a murmur of incredulous amusement filtering amongst the populace as she strutted to where Meredith sat. Fenris supposed there was no other word for it- the way she walked, how she carried herself, the expression she wore so self-assured, it was most definitely a strut. One full of pride and no small amount of defiance. To Anders’ horror and Fenris’ astonishment, Hawke slid into Meredith’s lap. 

 

“Unhand me-” Meredith fell silent as Hawke wound a red sash about Meredith’s neck. Her thighs flexed around Meredith’s armoured waist and Meredith found her hands lightly touching the bared knees of the refugee where her dress was bunched to. Hawke drew her in by the grip of the scarf around Meredith’s neck, her fingers caressing the line of Meredith’s slackened jaw as Hawke leaned in. The ghost of her lips framed Meredith’s parted mouth, the taste of her warm breath against Meredith’s mouth so inviting when Hawke pulled back. Her hand knocked Meredith’s crown off centre and in a breath she was gone. Darting away, leaving only her fading warmth and the scent of her skin with her scarf around Meredith’s neck, Hawke was bright and exuberant in her mockery of the prideful tyrant of Kirkwall. Meredith snarled and ground her teeth but Hawke paid her no mind as she escaped safely to the stage once more, dropping to the floor in death defying throes of skill, arching her back and flipping up to stand once more, full of flirtatious looks into the crowd as they ate it all up. Anders could feel his heart pounding at the sight of her, so vibrantly alive and sexual in a way he’d only ever known Isabela to be. His blood pounded in his ears with want of it- of  _ her _ \- as she span obscenely around a pole before falling to her knees. The crowd went wild in adulation of her, coins tossed to the stage in approval. One might have been Fenris’, but he had coin to spare and the show had been impressive. 

 

Varric climbed upon the stage again as Hawke took a bow. “Did I tell you, or did I tell you? The most beautiful woman in all of Kirkwall! And now!” Varric breezed on by as though that show had not shaken Anders’ so hard he wasn’t sure he could move for fear of tenting his robes. “Have you all be practicing your magic? Because we’re going to find the best mage Kirkwall and crown them King- or Queen- of the Circle!” 

 

Anders watched as various entertains pulled people from the crowd, jeering and cheering alternately as a line of people began to form. The cacophony of sound was deafening as the music and voices became louder, but to Anders it was as jarring as it was welcome. His ears were ringing with it but his shoulders were being jostled, his hands being brushed- he felt every inch of his own skin and not one drop of the longing ache that had driven him mad in envy. Anders felt his hand be taken in a gentle grip and looked up in alarm. Hawke had taken his hand, her beautiful face filling his vision as she guided him to follow her. He stumbled after her, unwilling to even break her hold for fear he would hurt her, until he found himself standing on the stage too full of giddy adrenaline to comprehend the precarious situation.

 

He had already determined if he got caught it would have been worth it, Anders reminded himself as Marian’s hands unfastened his thick cloak and let it tumble to the stage floor. 

 

Meredith was deep in thought so Fenris cast his eye over the excitement occurring on the stage, letting his attention pass from each festival goer to the next. The last in line was a tall blonde who looked lost to the attention of the crowd around him but Fenris could empathise as he doubted he would feel comfortable in the man’s place.

 

Varric clapped his back hard but Anders barely felt it, it was as though every sense was dulled in a fog of delirium as he stood atop the stage and looked down at the faces in the crowd. Smiling, happy, accepting faces- all of them looking up at him in good cheer and friendly spirit. 

 

Varric called to the first contestant who produced a coin from behind Varric’s ear and then vanished it with a flourishing gesture to the crowd. The crowd booed as the good cheer demanded good times, unaccepting of the paltry show of fake magic and Varric bluntly directed the man to leave the stage. The next man had sparklers that he lit with a match, twirling them in spitting circles to etch shapes into the air, but still the crowd was not pleased. One woman pulled scarves from her sleeves, another produced doves that flew to the sky, over and over the tricks came but the crowd did not welcome any of them. Anders realised they were coming for him next and he panicked.

 

_ What do I do?! I can’t do magic! C-can I? _

 

**You can.**

 

_ No, I know I ‘can’! I shouldn’t! _

 

**You might be able to show them that not all magic is evil.**

 

Anders was not sure even he believed that some days, but he could heal the small animals that got lost in the tower and that felt good. It did not feel as though he were a blight in the Maker’s flock then, he felt as though his cursed magic might have a purpose.

 

He lifted his hands with his palms to the sky and before he could think better of it or halt himself in the act, flames burst from his palms. Little ones, curls of blues and yellows and reds that died seconds after they left his hands, in a colorful display Anders couldn’t help smiling at. He rarely used his magic and every time he did it felt… good. Temptation of power, Meredith said. Anders wasn’t so sure any more.

 

Fenris moved to seize the mage but Meredith halted him with a wave of her hand. “Ma’am?” 

 

“Let this play out.” She said. “My charge might learn a lesson.” Fenris did not have the time to process the information that this apparent mage was not only known to Meredith but her ward, as the crowd reacted.

 

A hush fell over the crowd as the magic faded. A silence so crushing it stole Anders’ breath as he lowered his arms, seeing Meredith across the swathes of people as she rose from her seat to stare at him. Fury overtook her face and Anders would have crumbled from that alone, but the whispers started. Not so low as he couldn’t hear them but hissed between people as they grew bolder. 

 

“Did you see that?! That was real magic!”

 

“H-he’s a mage!” 

 

The stricken faces, only moments ago so open and happy, now looked upon him in fear. He had done that, he had given into Justice’s temptations and his own selfishness only to reap exactly what Meredith had warned him of. His hands trembled as cracks of blue flickered, Justice rising at the accusations and the recoiling of the people before them, but Anders refused to give in. He had to keep control, he had to be good.

 

Varric stepped between Anders and the crowd. “Friends, friends!” He cried to the ever rapturous audience. “We wanted a mage- the best mage in all of Kirkwall! And here he is!” 

 

The real magic, Anders thought absently, was in how Varric’s manner and presence changed the crowd’s response. Fear became marvelling once more as a gaudy, imitation staff was pressed into his hand. Marian drew closer to place an even cheaper looking crown upon Anders’ head, her face a warm smile as the stage was swarmed with clamouring cheers. A mage, they were cheering a mage. They beckoned him down with open hands to lead another parade back to the chantry’s steps where the first parade had began. People touched his hands and kissed his cheeks, running fingers over his robes and so interested in someone they should have feared. Anders felt so welcomed and adored that he wanted to burst from it. Emotions he could not voice were caught thick in his throat but this is what he had always imagined in his wildest fantasies, that if he left the tower his every fear would be proven false and he would be welcome. He turned a beaming smile to where Meredith sat upon her highbacked chair, wishing her anger would abate so she could see she was wrong. He was welcome, he wasn’t a danger to these people, nor were they a danger to him. He repeated it again to himself; Meredith had been wrong. 

 

Varric clasped his hand in a friendly hold and led him up to another stage, this one smaller but certainly more impressive in it’s place before the chantry. Anders rather dreamily thought he did feel like a king, king of all mages and proof they could be trusted.

 

Isabela leaned dangerously over the ledge of the chantry balcony, crowing in delight, “Guys, look! Our baby boy is king!”

 

Sebastian had his face buried in his hands, praying to the Maker as he bemoaned all the ways the day had gone wrong, as Aveline grim-facedly pulled Isabela to a safer distance. They offered no comment to Isabela’s clear insistence that this was good, that this wasn’t exactly how they’d hoped the day would not go for Anders. So much for a discreet afternoon outside.

 

Alrik, amused with the entire charade, nudged  Samson to get his attention. The other templar had been grinning at the bizarre turn of events the festival had taken and Alrik did not agree with how pleasantly the common folk were reacting to the dangerous mage, though Meredith had yet to give them word to act. “I bet the mage can’t dodge this.” He took tomato from a nearby stall and tossed it up once, letting Samson work out what he was about to do right as Alrik drew back his arm and let the tomato fly. 

 

It sailed through the air and Alrik was right; the mage could not dodge it. He hadn’t seen it coming so preoccupied as Anders was with his dreams coming true that he did not even react as the tomato impacted against his face. A spray of rotten juice sprayed across his head and he stood there, blinking, as a hush fell over the crowd.

 

One of the younger templars guffawed, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, “Down with the mage!”

 

Samson shoved Alrik for the unpleasant example but already other recruits were taking up objects to hurl at the unsuspecting mage who just stood there, wide eyed and as frightened as a child. It gave Samson too many memories of other frightened mages and enough blood on the floor to ensure he never slept again. He looked to Meredith who was watching impassively, then to her second, Cullen, who had not reacted at all. Then, the new Guard-Captain spoke up.

 

“Now, ma’am?” Fenris assumed that this had been the lesson she wanted her charge to learn, that mages were not welcome unshackled. It had been learned and now they should seize the man.

 

Meredith did not reply and the templars kept throwing the rotten food at the mage who cowered in his arms from them. He tried to reach the steps once more but slipped, falling to his rear but that only inspired laughter from the crowd. Raw, unbridled laughter at the mage on his hands and knees, dripping in filth, as though he were just another performance for their enjoyment. 

 

A man in the crowd snared Anders’ arm in a rope, lassoing him to stay as he was when Anders struggled to stand. Fenris turned to look at Meredith, Samson waiting with baited breath for her order to end this cruelty, but she simply halted them with an impassive hand. Her gaze was fixed on Anders and Fenris turned to watch in shock as the once friendly- if foolish- crowd, turned on the mage. One rope became two and the crowd began to tug, back and forth, almost trying to tear him in two. Maybe they were. Anders couldn’t tell if it was hatred or simply too much fun to them, their twisted faces of glee and horror divided among the people hurting him and the people trying to stop the others. He saw Varric below him trying to punch a man who raised a fruit to throw, but it was like trying to stop a wave with bare hands as the ones who threw outnumbered those who didn’t or those who simply stood by. 

 

**Let me out! This is an injustice!** Justice railed against Anders’ control, his mind as much a battle as the struggle to try and free himself from the ropes that bound him, another finding his neck. They were wound around and around him, lashing him to the platform and binding him so tight he had to fight to breathe.

 

_ No! I won’t give in! They are afraid, you’ll only prove them right! _ Anders insisted even as he frightened himself by how ready he was to give in and hide beneath the demon’s control. If ever he had been about to do it, it was in the face of this reality of Meredith’s truths.  _ You are a demon! I will not fall prey to you! _ He ground his teeth together as he knees buckled against the strain of the ropes.

 

Then came the bottle. 

 

It shattered against his back, tearing his robes and splitting his skin with thin slices of the glass, but it was only the first. Another struck the top of his head and Anders felt wet tacky blood drip down his face to cloud his vision. It was almost welcome, rather than seeing the faces of those tormenting him. Cries of ‘down with the mage’, ‘mages are monsters’ and similar rhetoric filled Anders ears. 

 

“Mistress!” Anders shouted, pleading as he sought out Meredith beyond the crowd. Meredith met his gaze unflinching but it was not as his saviour. He saw the accusation and the satisfaction in her eyes as everything she had ever told him of the world beyond the chantry walls was proven correct. “Mistress, please!” He wailed. Another bottle connected to his back, but this time it hit his bare skin between the tears of his skirt. The glass split old scars and unmarked skin alike, pain both remembered and present dampening his control as his eyes flashed blue with cracks upon his skin. 

 

_ Justice, no! _

 

**I will not stand by and let this happen! I will have Justice!**

 

“Abomination…” Fenris breathed as he recognised the presence of another entity within the mage. Even at a distance he could feel the astounding power the mage was drawing from and any moment Fenris expected fire to rain down upon them as the mage gave himself to a demon. It did not happen. The delighted peasants kept throwing things and the mage kept his head bowed, crying out for Meredith’s mercy in a way that had Fenris remembering Tevinter blood rituals and screaming slaves. 

 

“Help me!” Anders begged. Fenris watched the mage’s eyes flicker from blue to brown, and any understanding of the mage was lost as the mage did not cast his magic or become a demon. 

 

Fenris looked to Meredith again, unsettled by the cold manner with which she turned from her charge’s screaming cries of pain. He… he was a mage, Fenris reminded himself. It rang hollow before he even finished the thought. This mage had hurt no one and Fenris found himself with the notion of ending this, of striding up and freeing the man. Could he do that? Could he turn a compassionate hand to a mage? Were it Danarius up there, he would be throwing knives. But… it was not Danarius.

 

“Ma’am, this cruelty has gone on long enough.” Fenris’ low voice rumbled sharply at Meredith. Sympathy for a mage was new, but Fenris had seen this cruelty before and while he had thought that reversed he might enjoy it more, it turned out he did not. 

 

Meredith drummed her fingers over the arm of her chair, idle almost as she watched the boy she had raised be torn apart. “Anders is still learning his lesson.” 

 

“What lesson? That people are assholes?” Samson scoffed.

 

Meredith’s face twisted but it was the young, haggard looking man who had stood unmoving at her side who spoke. “Samson, you have been warned about speaking against the Knight-Commander befo-...”

 

The red-handed hush that fell over the crowd had Fenris’ head whipping round to see what had happened now- prepared to see either the mage turned to a demon, though Fenris would have expected more screams than silence, or the mage dead upon the platform. He saw neither. Instead, Hawke was climbing the steps of the platform. She had changed into less provocative clothing and no doubt was reemerging from her tent only to see the horrific cruelty she had elected to halt. None dared stop her and Fenris felt guilt at the wounded expression she wore. He could have stopped this, he had seen it was wrong and he had… done nothing. The incredulity of what Hawke was seeing was written on her face, her sympathy for the mage she stood over in how gently she moved, and Fenris could not ignore the relief that he felt at seeing the attack upon the mage stopped. He did not know what to do with that relief, but it was there nonetheless. 

 

Hawke unwrapped the sash about her waist in slow, careful movements, her voice soft and warm as she spoke, “Hey… I’m here.” She leaned towards him and Anders flinched away from her outstretched hand. “I’m sorry.” She stilled like that, close enough that all Anders could see was her beautiful face framed in sunlight, but respectfully distant until Anders could meet her gaze. “I swear to you, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

 

His skin was raw and burning, every inch of him anticipating more pain as she reached her hand to his face. Anders flinched but the fabric of her sash was soft against his skin and was not at all like what he had anticipated. His tear-streaked face leant into her palm, eyes closed as he gave himself over to her touch entirely. He craved it all the more with how he ached and hurt all over, yearned for it like a wilting plant straining for the sun. And oh, how Hawke was the sun- radiant and warm, as gentle as the first light of dawn as she wiped away the blood, the putrid tomato, and the rotten egg. It was ruining her sash and she didn’t seem to care, her gentle eyes on his face as calm beset him for it. Justice quietened, still full of rage, but thrown off by the sudden shift she had caused. 

 

“Halt, Fereldan! Remove yourself from that platform.” Meredith barked across the courtyard. Her voice echoed in the sharp silence, bouncing back from the chantry walls to ring in Anders’ ears as he shrank back from her. 

 

Hawke rose to her full height, her legs spread a little so her dress partially hid Anders from Meredith’s gaze. No one had missed the way Anders had cried out to her, his mistress, or the way Meredith had deemed the cruelty permitted and Hawke was close enough to see the scars across Anders’ bared back. Old scars, nasty and poorly healed. It turned her stomach as she faced down Meredith across the sea of uncertain faces. “Certainly, Knight-Commander, I wouldn’t like to cause a disturbance after all.” There was an edge to Hawke’s tone that implied she very much would like to cause a disturbance, which she absolutely was in her halting the spectacle. “As soon as I free this man we can return to enjoying the festival.” 

 

Meredith’s hands clenched in fury, eyes wild at the impudence the refugee showed her. “I forbid it!”

 

Hawke’s frail mask of polite meekness twisted into one of outright defiance at that. From under her dress Hawke produced a dagger. Anders pressed himself further to the boards of the platform in fear but Hawke gripped the ropes binding him and parted them in one swift slash of her knife. They fell limp around him but Anders did not dare move. 

 

“You dare to defy my authority?! Templars-”

 

Hawke turned to face Meredith again, crying out over her, “Your cruelties know no bounds! You mistreat this man, you mistreat the refugees- anyone who needs your aid you bring to heel beneath your power when they do not fit what you believe to be a person- mage, poor, it doesn’t matter to you! Justice, you call this Justice?!”

 

“Silence!”

 

“Justice!” Hawke screamed back. Anders was not sure if he was impressed or terrified of how Hawke cared not for Meredith’s anger, but the demon within him was stunned into awe at Hawke’s vigor. Hawke’s hands were upon Anders again as she lifted him from the platform floor, holding him as his legs shook unsteady beneath him. Her strength was his as she held him to her side until he stood firmer. 

 

“You think to insult my command?” Meredith seethed.

 

Hawke gestured her arms wide to indicate herself and the situation around her. “I do not ‘think to’, I believe I have. You claim all mages are evil and yet I see no evil in this man. But I see evil in you.”

 

“Arrest her!” Meredith snarled to Fenris. 

 

It was not as though Fenris could not see the validity of some of Hawke’s claims but she had outright defied the highest authority in the city and Fenris was bound to obey Meredith. He raised his arm and nodded to Donnic to seize her. 

 

Fenris’ men moved to surround the platform with Hawke and the mage upon it, with nowhere to turn to they were caught already. Hawke mock clutched her chest in despair as she wailed to Anders, who stared at her in silence, “I’m surrounded, whatever shall I do?” She pressed her wrist to her forehead as though she might faint. In a move so sudden Fenris’ mind struggled to catch up, her arm was thrown up into the air and a bolt of lightning landed upon her. The crowd reared back in alarm but she was gone, a smoking star scorched into the wood where she had been but now only the beaten mage remained upon the platform. 

 

“Mage!” Meredith howled and Fenris wanted to scrunch his face at the irony. Of course. The beautiful woman who had caught his eye was a mage, of course she was. 

 

“Oh, guards!” Hawke was on another stage where flame throwing artists had been juggling, she coquettishly waggled her fingers at the stunned soldiers who turned to run for her. She mock cried in distress again before tumbling back off the raised structure and right into the waiting arms of the crowd. 

 

They lifted her up as her mabari danced between their legs and followed under her as they carried her to safety. The templars joined in the pursuit but the crowd was too thick and they refused to part until they were physically moved. At that point Hawke was safely the other side of the crowd and only the few guards and templar there were of concern. Fenris was surprised to find himself half rooting for her, mage or not. She was… compelling. 

 

The guards rushed her in a formation and she smirked, throwing her hand forwards as a stone fist of magic pushed into them. They all fell one after the other at that, sprawled in a mess of armour and limbs, and Hawke bowed deeply to the crowd. She snatched up one of their discarded daggers and hurled it in a wide arc to imbed in the side of Meredith’s chair. Anders had no doubt that she had missed on purpose, it was too precise of a miss to have been accidental. It was perhaps all the more impressive she had used no magic to do it and the message was clear. Hawke might have magic but she did not need it to defy Meredith. 

 

Varric appeared at Hawke’s elbow, darting out from the crowd to throw her a length of fabric that she twirled around herself. As it fell to the ground it became clear she had vanished. Anders had felt no pull of the fade, so it had been another magician’s trick but a very good one. 

 

In their absence however, Meredith’s rage was turned instead to Anders. 

 

Anders clutched the shredded rags of his robes about himself, unwilling to move much but shrinking beneath Meredith’s gaze. 

 

“Find her, Guard-Captain. I want her alive.” Meredith bit out, taking to her horse and parting the crowd as she moved towards the platform. 

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Fenris dipped his head and began to call out orders to his men but he did not move himself. He kept one eye on Meredith as she neared Anders. Curiosity won out and he followed her, watching as Meredith drew up to the platform edge.

 

Anders stared at her in such wretched self-loathing as she glared him down with unflinching anger. He knelt before her, head bowed and arms curled around himself. Up close, the damage that had been done to him was even worse. Fenris could see so many cuts and so much blood yet the mage showed no outward sign of pain. 

 

“I’m sorry, mistress,” Anders breathed, “I will never disobey you again.” 

 

He dropped down from the platform, catching himself on a strut as his legs refused to hold him when he landed. Meredith sneered at the wretched picture he made, the people leaping away from him as he staggered toward the chantry. 

 

“I’ll kill her, I will kill her!” Isabela was pacing, hard wide steps that carried her in turns along the balcony, her rage vibrating in her hands as she mimed wringing Meredith’s neck. Aveline stared down at Anders with a resigned sadness until she heard the chantry doors close. Sebastian had not been able to watch and be so unable to act, leaving the two women to watch their charge suffer as he withdrew to the tower. 

 

“You were right.” Aveline said softly.

 

Isabela froze and shot Aveline a confused look. “Right about what?”

 

Aveline pressed her palms to the balcony edge and wished she had a way to undo the magic that had been done to them. To storm down the tower with her sword drawn and show this city what true Justice was. “Anders should have run far from here.” She turned away from the balcony to await Anders by the trapdoor. No doubt Anders would believe he deserved the injuries he had sustained and they would have to fight with him to heal himself. Aveline closed her eyes at the anger that sprang within her and she echoed Isabela’s hate; she wouldn’t mind getting her hands on Meredith either.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders befriends Hawke and pisses off Fenris all in one evening.

Hawke rested her back against a stone pillar within the chantry, Chip nudging her hand with his cold and wet nose for her to pat his head with a wry smile. “I might have gone a little too far,” She admitted to the dog.

 

Chip huffed at her, wagging the stump of his tail which she took to mean ‘not far enough’ as she chuckled and scratched his ears.

 

Looking around the chantry she had taken refuge in, Hawke realised she had never actually been inside the building. It was difficult to stand in such a building when the preachers hurled hateful rhetoric about mages to her, it made worshipping the Maker a tad difficult when you were assured that he hated you no matter what you did.

 

Still, the building was impressive. The ceiling was far, far above her head and supported by thick stone pillars that led to the altar down the far end. Everywhere she looked there were ornately carved details upon every surface, gold inlaid decorations adorning anywhere they would fit, every inch of the chantry building a gift to the Maker’s light. A light she was cheerfully certain she would never know not be welcome to while she had magic in her. It wasn’t as though she wanted it, anyway. All she saw was men and women, the Maker’s guidance was no match for the idiocies and cruelties of people. Once she handled Meredith she was certain she could give her family a better life in Kirkwall, as long as she was strong and defied any who relegated her to Fereldan scum she would delight in every turn at proving them wrong and it would have nothing to do with the Maker.

 

She felt someone behind her.

 

Hawke whirled around, snatching the attackers collar to topple him behind her and onto his back as her other hand wrenched his sword free of the strapping at his back.

 

“Fuck!” She cried out, not anticipating the sword’s weight and nearly dislocating her shoulder as she struggled to lift it from the ground. The man before her on the ground, stunned and scowling up at her, was the Guard-Captain. He had found her, no doubt ready to drag her from the chantry to Meredith’s tender mercies. “You!” She snarled, raising the sword determinedly and keeping Fenris keenly aware of the pointy end she was ready to skewer him with if he so much as breathed wrong. As much as she refused to be cowed by Meredith she was not ready to be branded and emptied of herself- ever.

 

“Easy, mage.” Fenris eyed the sword warily. “You are unfamiliar with handling that sword, I suggest you lower it.”

 

Hawke inched the blade closer to his chest. “My name is Hawke and I am plenty familiar with swords, Guard-Captain. No matter the size, I am pretty certain the pointy end will do you harm.”

 

Fenris grit his teeth and turned his head at the threat. He did not care for being at a mage’s whim again. “That would be effective, yes, but allow me to apologise a moment.”

 

Hawke paused. “Apologise? For what?”

 

Fenris’ leg swiped hers out from under her, catching the hilt of the sword and twisting it to clatter harmlessly beside him. He rose with it in his grip as Marian snarled at him from the ground. “You conniving little-”

 

“I was always told that swearing in the chantry was wrong.”

 

Hawke reached for a tall candle holder. “I’m a mage in the Maker’s house, what’s one more sin?” She drawled as she swung the large metal pole at Fenris.

 

The elf blocked deftly with his sword and huffed out something that might have been a laugh but came with more teeth and challenge. “You _are_ familiar with swords.” He inclined his head as he parried her chosen weapon and pushed her back a step. She refused to back down and came at him again, his sword connecting with the thick metal pole of the candle holder with an almighty clang of metal that had their ears ringing. She swung again and again, Fenris blocking every turn as she gripped the pole in a wide grip and bore it down against him. “This is almost impressive for a mage.” He mocked.

 

Hawke twisted her grip so the butt of the stand struck him across the face before leaping back out of his range. “Would you like to amend that?”

 

Fenris clutched his spinning head, blinking away the spots in his eyes. “This… this is not how I intended this conversation to go.” He admitted with a groan. “Mage-”

 

“Hawke.”

 

“Fine; Hawke.” He pinched his brow in frustration before trying again. “I am Fenris.”

 

She regarded him flatly. “I care because…?”

 

“I know your name, it is polite you know mine.”

 

Hawke scoffed. “All I see is the captain of the guard come to arrest me.”

 

Fenris sheathed his sword with a roll of his eyes. “I have not come to arrest you. I can not, not while you remain in the chantry. The justice of sanctuary is granted to anyone seeking shelter within it’s walls.”

 

Hawke lowered the candle stand slowly at the show of Fenris disarming himself. “Huh…” She remarked intelligently, her hard gaze softening with curiosity. Fenris felt himself inflate a little under her study of him and fought to keep his face neutral. “If it’s not my arrest you are here for, then what is it?”

 

The elf shifted at that. He had guessed the chantry might be where she had taken shelter, the irony of a mage hiding within a chantry something he thought she would appreciate while also the last place the guards might come looking immediately. He hadn’t quite reasoned with himself as to why he had not brought anyone else with him, or what he would do once he found her because he had not lied. He would not defy the chantry law by dragging her from here, but now he had nothing to offer. He had not thought he would get this far.

 

Hawke smirked at the way Fenris frowned in thought. It made him look rather endearing, for a rather intimidating elf anyway. She stepped towards him and watched his eyes go wide at her, suspicious and wary as though he could not figure her out. The feeling was quite mutual.

 

The chantry doors parted behind them and Meredith entered with a small group of templars, her second in command Cullen his sword already drawn, Samson at his heels like a grumpy shadow that determinedly followed where Cullen went. Meredith’s face lit with satisfaction at the sight of Hawke already in the hands of the Guard-Captain. “Well done, Fenris, you have her apprehended. Now, arrest her.”

 

Fenris inclined his head to Meredith, “I cannot, ma’am. She has claimed the justice of sanctuary within this chantry.”

 

Meredith stalked towards him, “Take her by her ankle if you must, drag her from here and-”

 

“Meredith.” A cool, calm voice broke through the building vitriol that welled within Meredith’s voice.

 

The Kinght-Commander stilled as the templars at her back bowed in unison. “Grand Cleric Elthina.” Meredith bit out with all the manner of a child caught stealing sweets. Her eyes narrowed at Orsino by Elthina’s side, calculating it was his fault that the cleric had been brought to mediate this.

 

“You cannot break the chantry’s laws, Meredith.” Elthina remarked mildly, resting a gentle hand on Hawke’s shoulder as Orsino crossed his arms.

 

“I would have thought you had learned to respect this particular law years ago, Meredith.” He scoffed at her.

 

She pointed a finger at him in clear threat. “Silence, mage!” A frustrated growl left her lips before she bowed to Elthina. “By your leave, Grand Cleric.” Meredith did not await an answer before she turned to leave, her templars following after her. Hawke knew this was not the end of it, even as Elthina patted her shoulder reassuringly.

 

“Unless you have business also, Guard-Captain…?” Elthina inclined her head pointedly to the door as Orsino sneered at Meredith’s retreating back. She smiled serenely at Fenris, bowed head before walking him to the door, ignoring Orsino’s bitter mutterings as he left them. His fixation had been for Meredith, at getting back at her any way he could, but he had no interest in making polite conversation with the refugee or the Guard-Captain. Hawke was still an apostate and if there was any way Meredith might accuse him of consorting with her to have him finally executed or put to the brand, he would not permit her to find it.

 

None of them had seen Meredith steal into the shadows of the chantry pillars. Even Chip had gone to see Fenris off, suspicious of the elf, and the moment Hawke was alone Meredith seized upon her.

 

Meredith effortlessly twisted Hawke’s hand behind and up, pinning her arm at her back and bracing her against Meredith’s armoured body with the other hand. “You cannot outmatch me.” Meredith hissed into Hawke’s ear, turning her head into Hawke’s neck and feeling her hiss and grunt with each twist of Meredith’s grip. “You will leave this place and I will have you. I can be patient, mage.” Meredith promised. “Mages do not do well inside stone walls.” The scent of Hawke’s hair had her pausing and leaning in for more, inhaling deep as she arched the woman tighter against her. The skin of Marian’s neck was so close Meredith could feel the heat of it, so temptingly arched that Meredith might-

 

“What are you doing?!” Hawke snarled, thrashing hard in Meredith’s unrelenting grip. The hissed sneer that Hawke knew exactly what Meredith was doing had Meredith grip the mage’s neck in her free hand. Against the unarmoured side of Meredith’s hand she could feel Hawke’s throat as it gulped at the action. After how the mage had teased her publically before it was refreshing to have Hawke at her mercy instead.

 

“I am imagining the noose I might execute yet another apostate by, tight around that delicate throat.”

 

Hawke threw Meredith back and scrambled from her grasp. “I don’t think it was my execution you were imagining,” She spat. If there was one thing Hawke was intimately familiar with, it was the covetous look of someone wanting to claim her in a way that did not need her opinion on the matter.

 

“What a deviant wretch you are to twist my words.” Meredith brushed her off with a disdainful scoff, walking to the chantry door and throwing over her shoulder, “One foot beyond these walls, mage, and you are mine. Enjoy your prison.”

 

True to her word, every window and door Hawke went to she saw a guard or a templar beyond it. Chip growled as Hawke slammed yet another window and slid to the floor. She really was entombed in a prison, pretty, but a prison nonetheless. Meredith seemed intent on her capture and Hawke was loathe to grant it. Chip settled his head on her knees and gave Hawke a weary look.

 

“She cannot keep us here,” Hawke insisted, “We will find a way. Meredith will not win.”

 

Orsino scoffed at her from across where he was methodically lighting candles. A flare of fire from his fingertip in careful turns he seemed to cherish bitterly. “Meredith always wins.” He offered a soured smile. “Though it was rather amusing to watch you humiliate her this afternoon.”

 

“I just wanted to stop her cruelty. I thought…” Hawke stood as her anger built. “I thought if I just showed everyone they didn’t have to obey her, that what they were doing was wrong, that maybe…” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “What does it matter, I changed nothing.”

 

“You saved Anders.” Orsino pointed out mildly. “Maker knows the boy has had few kind gestures turned to him in his time.”

 

Hawke turned to Orsino at the reminder of the mage boy, though he had looked more a man than a boy. “For someone who hates mages, why does she keep one, what, as her son?”

 

Orsino flinched at the inadequate comparison. “Of a sorts…”

 

“And here you are, two mages in a city that boasts none at all.”

 

“No free ones.” Orsino gestured for her to walk the chantry with him as he lit the candles they passed. “I was once the First Enchanter of Kirkwall’s circle. I was kept alive as a mercy of sorts, but then you cannot call the mass slaughter of the circle a genocide if there is a puppet survivor at her command to prove she only killed those beyond saving.” Orsino heaved a sigh. “Of course the city heralded their hero and now you have her authority as immovable as iron around the city. You cannot best her alone, and none would dare oppose her.”

 

“Including you?” Hawke watched the man flinch again.

 

“I defy in the ways I can.”

 

“It is not enough.”

 

“I know. Look, I cannot be seen talking with you. But perhaps… perhaps you could visit Anders? I am forbidden from interacting with the boy, Meredith thinks me a bad influence, but I do not think you would bow to the rules of Anders’ isolation.” Orsino had turned his back to her and Hawke took it for the dismissal it was. “He lives in the bell tower.”

 

Hawke was curious about the mage, and Varric’s tip had indicated the artifacts they needed were still within the chantry, so what harm was there in exploring a bit? It wasn’t as though any door down here would lead her anywhere but to chains so she looked about for the tower stairs.

 

\---

 

“Anders!”

 

Anders gritted his teeth as he pulled his cuts in his attempts to twist his arm behind himself and clean his back. “Leave me alone.”

 

Aveline snarled in frustration, “Anders we have been over this!”

 

“Aye!” Sebastian agreed, “The Maker would forgive the use of your magic to heal yourself!”

 

“Hand me the poultice or get out.” Anders snapped, hissing in pain as he peeled the robe from his back to leave him in only his trousers and boots. It was sodden with blood but all he had. He hoped he could find enough fabric to patch it.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Isabela bit out under her breath as she saw his back, “Anders, this isn’t fucking funny- use your damn magic!”

 

“I’ve used enough magic for today! No more!”

 

Isabela slammed a stone fist against the floor, “Anders, please!”

 

“You know, the statues have a point.”

 

All three statues and Anders froze at the sudden voice, whirling about to face the doorway where Hawke was standing, Chip wagging his tail cheerfully at their stunned faces. Anders’ eyes widened comically and he lurched up to run but did not get very far before Aveline caught him as he fell.

 

“Easy, Anders.” The statue warned him, turning her stern gaze to Hawke. “Leave. Now.”

 

“Can she just go? I mean, she knows about us, are we sure she won’t tell Meredith?” Isabela frowned, talking to Aveline but looking at Hawke.

 

“Hey, hey! I won’t tell Meredith! I’m just here to see Anders, I can help. My healing magic isn’t great but I’ll give it a shot.” She waggled the hands she had raised in surrender with a smile. “That way it’s my terrible sin, and not yours. Sound fair?” Nothing about Hawke baring a sin for Anders sounded fair.

 

The statues regarded Anders as the mage toyed between ragged, pained breaths and trying to wriggle free from Aveline’s grasp. Isabela rolled her eyes. “He says yes.”

 

“Isabela…” Sebastian sighed.

 

The pirate ignored him. “You go right ahead, sweet thing, heal away.” She beckoned Hawke closer.

 

Hawke flashed her a wide smile and moved towards Anders with deliberate steps, as she had before, like one might approach a wild animal. Anders wanted to close his eyes against her, reeling as he still was from the day’s events, and now Hawke was in his home and offering to use magic for him- he couldn’t process any of it. He didn’t want to. He wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from the world forever. Anders found himself watching her, however, intrigued at another mage he had never dared to hope he would meet.

 

Her magic was warm when it touched him. A brush of candlelight the flared from her palms and coursed into his skin. Anders studied her pinched face as she concentrated knitting his skin back together as best she could. It did not appear to come as easy to her as Anders had always found it but he groaned in appreciation as the pain began to recede.

 

“There, it’s not the best,” She admitted with a duck of her head, “But I’m not much good with healing magic. Now, force magic, that’s more me.” Hawke glanced skyward and shot him a cheeky grin. “No wrath from the Maker yet, either, so… you got anything else to wear? Not that the view’s bad.”

 

Isabela sniggered into her palm as Anders gaped at her, then looked down at his bared chest. He flushed a charming shade of red from his nose, down his neck, and splashed across his chest as he turned and fled from the pretty girl eyeing him up.

 

“Wait!” Hawke called.

 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Don’t flirt with him like that. He doesn’t understand.”

 

Isabela pushed him lightly, “Ignore old stick-in-the-mud here. Anders could use the attention.” She winked at Hawke but the Fereldan was already chasing after Anders. Chip was sniffing with interest at Sebastian’s leg and the chantry brother crossed his arms sternly.

 

“Don’t even think about it.”

 

Hawke called out to Anders who was darting away from her up the stairs and higher into the tower. “I’m so sorry about this afternoon, I swear that was not supposed to happen! Varric would never plan to do something like that, and had I known who you were-!” Hawke scrambled up the ladders after Anders with determination, even as the mage scurried away from her. Giving up just wasn’t in her nature. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have pulled you onto that stage, I am so sorry for having put you…” Her head peered over the top of the ladder and she trailed off in surprise at what she saw.

 

Greenery, everywhere. There were hanging plants and appropriated containers teeming with vegetation of every kind. Wildflowers, herbs, so many kinds she’d never seen before lining the struts and rafters. Anders was hurriedly pulling a blanket around himself and once more Hawke saw the aging scars before they were covered, but her attention was fixed on the veritable garden around her. She ran her fingers over the delicate bloom of a heaving pot of crystal grace, inhaling deeply at the sweet scent of it as she moved from pot to pot, identifying as many as she could but largely just marvelling at them.

 

“What is this?”

 

Anders had his hands and face pressed to a wooden strut but he peered out at her as he answered, “My home.”

 

“Did you… grow all of these?” She felt like a child wandering through the woods again.

 

“Most of them. Sometimes the chantry is donated seeds or plants, but they have no use for them. Orsino makes sure they get to me and I make potions for them to hand to those in need.” Hawke sounded impressed and Anders was turning that over in his mind. He hadn’t thought his paltry herb plants all that impressive, certainly not of the quantities he needed to make more than a few various potions every day, but Hawke made him wonder if these were perhaps the most herbs she’d ever seen. She was certainly regarding them as such.

 

Hawke grinned encouragingly at him, thumbing gently over the green surface of a leaf of elfroot. “Practical and amazing. It’s beautiful, Anders.” She dipped her head to inhale the scent of a softly glowing embrium flower and sighed wistfully. “Oh, if I could do this… well, I wouldn’t be dancing for money that’s for sure.” She smiled wryly.

 

“You dance beautifully.” Anders said earnestly, hiding from her gaze as she turned to him.

 

Hawke shrugged. “It feeds my family, so I suppose that’s all that matters. My brother can eat like a horse.” She chuckled to herself, pleased when Anders laughed weakly with her. “Looks like the real healer here is you. A good one, too.” It still begged the question why he refused to heal himself, but that she figured had more to do with Meredith’s upbringing than anything else. “You’re wasted alone up here.” Anders warily stepped from behind the wooden beam to offer her a small smile.

 

“I have Aveline, Sebastian and Isabela.” He pointed out with a shrug, knowing very well that they were listening in even if they had elected to give them privacy. “And, well…” He gestured above their heads. “The bells.”

 

Hawke looked up and her jaw dropped. She’d heard the bells, of course, but in person they were so much more impressive. “Whoa… those are some big bells…”

 

Anders chuckled again, “Would you like to meet them?” At her uncertain look he shrugged. “I know they’re bells, but… well, they’re mine. Or I like to think so…”

 

“Then lead the way.” Hawke said brightly.

 

It was amusing to watch Anders give her a tour of the bells, pointing each one out and explaining how he rang them. He knew them all from each sound they could make when struck a certain way, and he blushed so adorably when she made a joke about him being a strong hand for spanking. By the top of the tower Anders was flushed a charming shade of pink but he could meet her gaze and was excitedly bringing up topics of conversation without her prompting him. He was as lonely as Hawke had guessed, stammering over words and rambling in zig-zagging lines of conversation she struggled to keep up with, but he laughed at her awful jokes and even gave a few of his own. His sarcasm had delightful bite and she clapped her hands with glee.

 

Anders bit his lip in thought, “Would you… would you like to see something else?”

 

Hawke raised an eyebrow but she sincerely doubted Anders meant it in the filthy manner she had to stop herself from implying. Instead she nodded and Anders clasped her hand in excitement. He pulled her to another ladder, this one in the very far corner of the tower, that he climbed as nimbly as she’d seen him able to dart around the labyrinth of a tower. Hawke followed but far more slowly, seeing his bright smile peering expectantly down at her from the top of the ladder.

 

Once up the ladder she stopped and stared, mouth parting in awe. Anders took her hand once more and led her to the balcony edge for a better view.

 

“Kirkwall looks beautiful like this.” Hawke admitted, watching the sea and sky streak with golds and reds as the sun set in the distance. The city looked calm this far up, the people below no more than specks, and a hush fell between Anders and Hawke as they watched the sun’s lazy trek below the horizon. “I could watch that forever.” She whispered wistfully.

 

Anders looked at her in alarm, a giddy hope in his chest at the idea of it. “Y-you could, if you liked. There’s room.”

 

Hawke turned away from the view. “As nice as it is, this is still imprisonment. I don’t do well in a cage, no mage should live like this.”

 

“It is for our safety, and the safety of others.” Anders repeated Meredith’s words softly.

 

“Let me guess, Meredith told you that?” At Anders’ nod Hawke sat upon the roof tiles in disbelief. “How she raised a man like you, I will never know. You are kind and good, she is… cruel.”

 

Anders shook his head vehemently, “No, no! She saved me! My mother cast me out to die, I-I… I am a mage, and a possessed one at that. I should have been killed, but Meredith would not do that to a baby.” Anders nodded to himself. “She raised me as her own. I’m an abomination, she should never have shown me such kindness.”

 

“Possessed? You’re an… you don’t look like an abomination.”

 

Anders cocked his head at that. “What do you mean? You’ve seen abominations before?”

 

“Ha, well, yes. One or two. They look distinctly less… well, human.” Hawke continued at the rapt expression Anders gave her. “Like… fleshy. But growths everywhere kind of fleshy. A lot more roaring and murder in their day to day activities than growing plants and ringing bells.”

 

“I have not given in to my demon. Though, Justice insists he is not a demon.” For the first time in his life, Anders began to consider if perhaps Justice had been telling the truth. He dismissed it, but the thought was there now. Worming away and churning in the back of his mind.

 

Hawke shook her head. “Again, what I know of demons, they aren’t down for a timeshare in a body…”

 

“I’m strong enough to resist him.” Anders insisted. Hawke pinched him. “Ow!” She pinched him again and Anders lurched away with a huff. “Ow! Hey!” This time when her hand reached for him she did not pinch, but her spread fingers curled between the blanket and tickled his bare skin. “W-what-! Ahh! Hawke!” He writhed on the roof as she leaned into him, unable to evade her hands.

 

She laughed loudly and Anders felt overwhelmed from the sound of it with the feel of her hands on his skin. Newly healed and sensitive he squirmed under her onslaught. “I’ve never tickled an abomination before!” Anders shrieked as her fingers dragged down from his underarms to his ribs and he utterly failed at fighting her off. “I have to say I thought there would be more ‘rawr, fight me, petty mortal’, you’re doing a bad job of crushing Thedas here.” She mock scolded. As Anders wheezed for air she drew back. “Yep, that does it. No demon in there, they hate being tickled.”

 

“You said you’d never tickled an abomination before.” Anders croaked, sucking in lungfuls of air.

 

“I’m a quick study. As for the mage thing, well, if you don’t think I’m an evil mage then that means that all mages can’t be evil. Unless… you really do think I’m evil?” She batted her eyes at him and grinned as he flailed his hands in a desperate gesture to assure her he did not.

 

“No, no! Of course not! You’re good and kind and not at all evil!”

 

Hawke fought to keep Anders’ eye contact as Anders drank up every word she said. His trust was touching and she thought maybe she might be able to get him to understand her. “I’m still a mage. As you are. And maybe Meredith is _wrong_ about both of us.”

 

The thought was heavy but Anders could not rid himself of it once Hawke had said it. It ran around and around in his mind. ‘Maybe Meredith is wrong’, over and over. Maybe she was, and what then? What else was she wrong about? It was as though Hawke had loosened the corner pin on the foundation of his world and Anders could scarce breathe for the idea of it. What if Anders was right and his magic was a gift, what if Hawke was right that he deserved freedom, what if, what if, what if… His mind reeled from the weight of it and he shook his head to clear it. Anders was left with a sudden inspiration, however.

 

“You saved me before, now let me save you.” Anders gently placed his hands around hers as his mind whirled with what they were about to do.

 

He had already earned Meredith’s fury, why not add to it? He thought to himself. Chip huffed in suspicion as he eyed the milling guards far below them, their torches flickering in the late afternoon. Hawke was intrigued but she didn’t seem to see how Anders could possibly get her out of chantry. “I’ve already checked every door and window, Meredith was quite thorough.”

 

Anders leaned his hands on the railing and gestured with a smirk. “Then we won’t use a door _or_ a window.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait, what?!” Hawke balked as Anders swung his legs over the railing, an expectant look on his face as Hawke and Chip shared a look of disbelief. “You want to… climb down the bloody chantry?! I can’t leave Chip up here and, no offence, but you’re pretty…” She lifted her hands and drew them towards each other in an indication of his slim build. “I don’t think this will work.”

 

Anders nodded at that, “You’re right, me carrying either of you- let alone both of you- isn’t going to work. Fortunately, I know you’re pretty acrobatic and your dog doesn’t seem like he’d be too bad at a few jumps. We’ll have to catch him the odd bit as we go down but I can show you how to do it.” Anders stood on the declining line of the roof the other side of the balcony railing. “Trust me; do exactly as I do and you’ll be free in no time.” He was so sure and confident that Hawke found herself nodding. What other choice did she have? Chip however, gave a whine and backed away. Anders gave the dog a flat look. “I watched a cat do it this morning.” Chip growled and stepped forward again, a determined look on the mabari’s face.

 

“Atta’ boy, Chip.” Hawke praised. She followed Anders’ lead and jumped the railing, pulling Chip over as he inelegantly tried to leap and got his back legs stuck. “Okay… feeling less sure this is gonna work now…”

 

Anders dropped down over the lip of the roof, bracing his feet on the curved decorative stones that protruded from the wall of the tower. “I’d advise not looking down. But that might just be me.”

 

Hawke pushed Chip towards Anders’ outstretched hands and between them the managed to get the dog settled on the rungs of stone. Anders took Hawke’s hand to help her down, giving her a firm squeeze of reassurance as he led the way. They walked along the stone decorations until they reached a tower edge where the protrusions continued, but this time downwards. Hawke carefully maneuvered Chip onto her back with Anders help, the weighty dog not a burden she could bear for long as Anders quickly guided her down the tower edge.

  
“Do not look down,” Anders repeated more firmly but it seemed more for his own benefit than hers.

 

She froze. “Y-you’ve done this before, right?”

 

“Uhm, no… Hawke, don’t stop! You have to keep moving!” Anders had reached the bottom of the tower and was waving a frantic arm at her to hurry. Every moment they lingered, they ran the risk of one of the templars or guards looking up and spotting their precarious escape. Anders caught her about her waist, helping to steady Chip as they set him onto the uneven ledge. It was slow work navigating the roofs after that. The chantry’s roof was not one cohesive piece and some slopes were steep, broken by obscenely decorated arches and borders that no one would ever see that high up, then a smoother roof. Chip’s paws skittered and slipped on the slates as he fought to keep his grip. Marian had a hand tight around his collar just in case, though she didn’t like the thought of choking him if he did slip. Anders pressed his body into Chip’s side and between them they managed to near one of the chantry’s many decorative arches. It joined from one of the lower sections of the tower, in a steady decline, to attach to the roof of the lower chantry proper.

 

They were low enough now to make out the moving figures of the guards and templars illuminated by torchlight when they peered over the edge. Anders fought to keep his face confident as Hawke bit her lip, but she was the one with an almost manic grin when Anders stepped out onto the thin arch with one foot.

 

“Does, uh, he do tricks?” Anders asked softly.

 

Hawke sniggered, “Tricks?”

 

“Like, ‘walk’, can he stand on his hind legs comfortably?” Anders looked down at Chip as the dog gave him an unimpressed snort.

 

“Are you asking if he can tightrope walk this?”

 

Anders shook his head, grinning at the idea however. “Not quite, here.” He held out his arms for Chip to come to him. “I’m not really a dog person, but I promise I won’t let go of you.”

 

Chip gave Hawke a strained look. Hawke offered the dog a weak shrug and nudged him to go. Jumping up onto his back legs, Anders caught Chip around the dog’s barrelled chest. He arranged the hefty paws to rest on his shoulders and took a slow step back. Chip was pulled with him and took a step, one paw in front of the other. Hawke was impressed, with Chip’s weight held higher he could balance better and she actually thought this might work- as insane as the entire thing was.

 

Hawke followed after them with patient steps, her hands out as though she could do anything to save either of them if they slipped. She gulped at that thought and it took everything in her not to look down. They’d scaled a lot of the building just in climbing down from the tower but they were still very far from the ground yet. A sharp whine alerted Hawke to Chip having not kept his head up and Anders’ hold on the dog tightened.

 

“Easy, easy!” He hissed, sharp but not scolding. Anders tone brooked no argument and Chip’s head raised. Still and exposed so high up it made Hawke’s stomach writhe in knots but Anders patted Chip and they began moving again.

 

Once at the end it was an awkward matter of sliding down a short strut of stone, which Hawke did first so as to catch Chip who did not have the grip necessary for a vertical slide. Hawke set Chip down upon the roof and caught Anders around his middle as he slid down after the war hound. His hand had slipped on the stone and Hawke immediately reached for him, setting him on his feet and punching his arm lightly. “We didn’t come this far to fall now.”

 

“R-right.” Anders swallowed thickly around the way his heart pounded at her familiar touches. He craved them and the more she gave so openly, the more he ached for it. He felt like a man starved of drink now presented with a spring, desperate to drink and drink until he drowned. Justice grumbled at that and Anders managed to squash the need he had to cling to Hawke’s touches, instead turning his attention to the next part of their descent.

 

Already sweat was prickling Anders’ skin and in the night air with only a blanket tied about him he would not keep his dexterity were the cold to really set in, nor would Hawke without a thick cloak to shield her. Fortunately they were only three stories up from the streets of Kirkwall now, and whoever had designed the chantry had seen fit to inset gargantuan statues in alcoves not too far from the ground. That meant plenty of handholds for them to cling to as they held Chip between them and crept their way to the statue’s feet.

  
“So, this statue isn’t going to move, right?” Hawke whispered to Anders as she scuffed one foot against the little toe of the statue.

 

Anders shook his head, “My guardians are unique.”  


“That they are.” Hawke agreed, musing in thought until her head snapped up at the flicker of torchlight drawing closer to them. “Quick!” She flattened herself back against Anders, squishing him into the alcove and tight against her as Chip darted to hide the other side of the statue’s feet.

 

It is a very serious moment, Anders is well aware of that, and he can feel her holding her breath as the torch bobs passed them but he is holding his own breath for a very different reason. Her rear is pressed rather unmistakably against his groin, her hair tucked under his chin, and her scent filling his nose to make his head spin. Anders drew his hands up to hold them up in surrender, as though if the guard were to find them at least he could not accuse Anders of molesting the woman.

 

**You are single-minded in this matter today.**

 

_It has been a very long day and there have been some very beautiful people. Touching me, Justice. Nobody touches me._

 

The guard kept moving and Hawke blessedly- or not blessedly, Anders wasn’t sure- moved away to dangle her legs over the alcove edge. “That was close…”

 

Anders nodded and shifted, hoping the blanket hung low enough to hide his crotch from view. “You should go now, the rotation in guards looks close so you don’t have much time.” He looked away from her as his throat grew tight. Perhaps it was pathetic that he counted her as a friend after only a day of her company, but she had upended his world the moment he saw her. She was kind and gentle and treated him as though he were a person, Anders hated that now he had known it he would miss it every moment of every day. “I am glad to have met you, Hawke. I will never forget you.”

 

Hawke turned his face to hers again, eyes alight with mischief and the madness of an idea Anders knew he wouldn’t like before she even spoke. “Come with me to Darktown!” Anders gaped at her, but even as he felt shocked he knew he wasn’t surprised. It was just the sort of insane idea he was coming to expect from her. “You would never need known imprisonment again, you would be free and far from Meredith’s reach.”

 

Anders shook his head firmly. “After how today went? I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m still an abomination and I cannot blame anyone’s fear of me for that on anyone but myself. I belong here, safe.”

 

The Fereldan looked disappointed but she would not be deterred. “What, I finally make a new friend in this city and you won’t even come visit? Fine, I’ll come and see you.”

 

“Meredith’s templars and the city guards will still be looking for you!” Anders shook his head more erratically, desperate to make her see the idiocy of her plan. “They’ll patrol day and night, and really I should be ringing the bells and making potions, you’d be putting yourself in danger and I couldn’t-” His mouth fell slack as Hawke leaned in and kissed his cheek. Anders teeth clicked together as he snapped his jaw shut. “Urkk…” He choked, coughing into his hand as she smirked at him. “Right. Well. Tomorrow then?”

 

It was charming how much he flushed and squirmed at her attention, as though he really did not see how handsome or sweet he was, and it broke her heart to think of him climbing the chantry again. To return to his empty tower with only statues for company. Statues that could talk but still statues nonetheless. Hawke reached into the dip of her dress, winking as Anders’ gaze snapped to where her hand cupped her own breast before his eyes shot away in shock, she produced a small square of paper. Holding it out to him she smiled softly. “If you change your mind, there is a place for you with us; free. You can use this to help you find the correct tunnels, but watch out you don’t take a wrong turn. We trapped the other tunnels for Meredith to find.”

 

Anders studied the paper but couldn’t make sense of it. “It’s… a map?”

 

“Yes, once you find that entrance,” She tapped her finger to a circled house in Hightown, “You’ll be in Darktown. That’s the easy part, Darktown goes on for miles. Follow these directions and do not falter.”

 

The light of another torch caught their attention and Chip huffed in agitation. Hawke pinched his cheek and slid from the alcove. She landed nimbly on her feet and caught Chip as he jumped for her arms, delightedly darting about now his paws were on the ground once more.

 

“Halt!” The guard called out and Anders felt his chest seize in alarm. He met Hawke’s gaze and pointed passed her, urging her to run.

 

Anders slid from the alcove with far less grace, but in doing so he made far more noise. He liked to have thought it was intentional but he hadn’t really come up with how he was going to cover Hawke’s escape- he had just acted. The noise at least drew the approaching guard to him as he untangled himself from a bucket and some rope, an armoured hand gripping the blanket where it bunched around his shoulders.

 

“You there, identify your- ah.” The hand released him uncertainly but when Anders looked up, the elf’s face wasn’t exactly friendly.

 

It was the elf that he had heard Meredith refer to as Guard-Captain when he had been… well, when Anders hadn’t the mind to notice the elf much. He was tall, not taller than Anders but Anders was starting to suspect he might be fairly tall, but he was broad. Even encased in the guard-issue armour he was clearly filling it out. What drew Anders’ attention more, however, were the tattoos. Elves with tattoos generally meant they were Dalish, at least from what he could remember Orsino explaining to him in his youth, but nothing about the swirls of elf before him screamed ‘I used to frolic in the woods’. Was that racist? That was probably racist. Anders willed himself to keep his mouth shut.

 

“Mage.” The Guard-Captain offered. He seemed to be waiting for Anders to explode into a frothing rage of magic and in the wake of Hawke’s treatment of him it felt like a slap in the face.

 

“Elf.” He returned before he could think on it too long. Anders twisted the hem of the blanket in surprise at himself. “Uhm, sorry. I should... go.” Anders reached for the lip of the statue’s alcove to pull himself up.

 

“You climbed down the chantry?” The elf had a rich voice, as low as the gravelling tones of the deepest bell in the chantry tower and it went straight down Anders spine.

 

 **Again?!** Justice demanded incredulously.

 

 _What part of sensory overload are you not getting?! How is it my fault everyone in this city is beautiful?_ Outloud, however, Anders offered a soft, “Yes?” But he did not stop trying to clamber away.

 

“Do you… do this regularly?”

 

At the wary, suspicious look on the elf’s face Anders dropped to his feet and shook his head earnestly. “Maker, no! Never! This is my first time, I swear!”

 

“Why, then?”

 

Anders eyes widened and he hung his head. His own stupidity had him caught, what other possible reason would Anders have for climbing down the chantry if not for aiding the very fugitive within it’s walls that the Guard-Captain was searching for. At least Hawke had gotten away, maybe for good. She seemed adept at evading Meredith’s reach and Anders hoped her luck would never run out. “Please… don’t tell my Mistress.” Anders pleaded softly. He did not hold out much hope of the elf humouring him, however. What better way to curry favour with his boss than to prove his loyalty in telling Meredith her charge had once again defied him?

 

The Guard-Captain closed his eyes and sighed. Something about Anders’ request had irked him and he tensed in agitation- the exact opposite of what Anders had been hoping to engender within the elf. “You were trying to escape.” The accusation has Anders head snapping up from the meek way he had slumped, but when he looked at the elf it did not seem as much an accusation as a realisation. A false one, but one that Anders wasn’t keen to correct. “After today, well…” Sympathy? From someone so firmly under Meredith’s rule? Anders clenched his fingers into the hem of the blanket but elected to say nothing. The elf inhaled deep and sighed again. “I cannot let you leave, mage.”

 

Anders swallows thickly. “That’s alright, I… I changed my mind. The tower is where I belong.”

 

The Guard-Captain nodded at that, “Mages are dangerous. Come, I will show you to the tower. You might find the stairs and doors an easy route.” He turned to lead the way and Anders fell into step behind him with a frown.

 

“You know, people are dangerous.” The elf did not turn to look back at him but did grunt in confusion. “People, not just mages. I mean, you’re Guard-Captain. That sword on your back looks like you could chop me in two with one blow. And, well… I wasn’t dangerous today.”

 

“You could have been, mage.”

 

The elf said it like that was all that mattered, like Anders had suffered and still done the right thing but ultimately he was a mage and well, what did he expect? Maker, what had Hawke done to him? She had lit a spark in his heart and now even without to fan it, it was catching. Justice was humming with approval in his chest and it scared Anders a little, but Anders could see no cracks of blue in his skin so it was still just him in control. “And you could have stopped it.” The Guard-Captain stilled but Anders, already in for a copper so why not for a sovereign, continued walking passed him. “Ah, my mistake, your duty is to protect the _people_. That doesn’t include mages, does it?” Anders neared the side door to the chantry that the elf had been leading him to, resting his hand on the handle as he turned to give an acidic smile. “How fortunate for you that there are only two mages in this city, not counting any among the refugees who are already regarded as lesser. That must make your task pretty-”

 

Anders’ stepped back as the elf lit up. The tattoos scored into his skin erupted in a surge of white and Anders’ back collided with the wooden door. He was out of room to run with his escape cut off by the suddenly glowing elf with a face scrunched in rage- congratulations, Anders, really a job well done on pissing off the scary elf- but Anders could barely feel terror under the immediate roar of Justice under his skin.

 

Lyrium. From the the three dots on the elf’s brow, down the framing of his chin and the crossing lines on his throat, down and down over every inch of skin that Anders couldn’t see, the tattoos were lyrium.

 

“Do not test me, mage!” The Guard-Captain hissed through his teeth. “What was done to you was cruel and I did not condone it, but it was not even the worst I have seen your kind enact upon others.” Hatred, that was what this was. Pure, unfettered hatred. Whatever the elf’s reasons, he looked at Anders and saw nothing but magic and ruin.

 

Anders choked around his fear, “H-how- how are y-you…” His brows drew down in concentration as he desperately held Justice back.

 

The elf took a half-step towards him and Anders flattened against the door. “You are not the only one to have suffered, mage, and at the hands of your kind I suffered far worse than a chantry tower and rules I did not care to obey.” He seethed for a moment before taking a deep breath and softly, the brands extinguished their ethereal light. The lines were scorched into Anders’ eyes as darkness enveloped them save for the torch that seemed paltry after that particular light show.

 

“A-a… a mage did that to you?” Anders studied the elf’s skin where he could see it. “How are you not in agony?! Maker, you _must_ be!”

 

The Guard-Captain’s expression shuttered from rage to blank incomprehension as eyebrows drew together in confusion. “That was all you took from that?”

 

“Well, that and you’re an arse. But I can’t do anything about that.” Living under Meredith had taught him the battles he would win and those that he had better just let go. That and listening to Aveline and Isabela argue.

 

“You intend to do anything about my brands?” The scowl deepened. “You will not. You will go through that door and return to your tower.”

 

“Yes, ser.” Anders gripped the handle again, more than eager to leave the elf.

 

“I am no knight. Guard-Captain Fenris will do.”

 

Anders stilled. “Fenris?” He turned the name over for a moment. “I’m Anders.”

 

“Go, mage.” Fenris looked as ruffled as the birds that roosted in the tower rafters when Anders rang the morning bells and he could not help but grin at the comparison, ducking through the door and hurrying to the tower stairs before anyone else caught him where he shouldn’t be.

 

 **Anders, that elf tried to intimidate you, why are you aroused?** If a demon could sound exasperated then Justice was managing it.

 

 _Shut up, Justice_. Anders had absolutely no reason for why he was aroused, he blamed it on being so very confused and wound up from Hawke. That seemed like a reasonable explanation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders doesn't understand people, friendship, or romance, and Meredith has more than a few unhealthy designs on Hawke.

Anders was leaning over a balcony and staring out at the night sky, lost in thoughts that were filled with how unexpectedly the day of the festival had gone. Four days passed, and Hawke had not visited how she had promised she would- but then she couldn’t with how determinedly Meredith was still searching for her. Anders had found it almost impossible to sleep at nights as he hoped she might come to him. Each night he had laid there with his head buzzing with thoughts of Marian, memories of the familiar touches people had shared during the festival, even the bitter taste of ale on his tongue was something so unique and alluring he spent five minutes bemoaning the idea he might never taste it again. Meredith had not visited him but she had posted a constant templar at the foot of his stairs and made it very clear he would never be leaving the chantry again.

 

After yet another evening of disappointment and wistful thoughts he restlessly stalked to the bottom of the tower proper to sit on the balcony edge, away from where Isabela, Aveline and Sebastian were sleeping- if indeed, the really slept as statues. They were still and unmoving either way, so Anders slipped away to watch the city below him.

 

They were still patrolling the streets around the chantry heavily and Anders made an idle game of guessing which were the guards and which the templars, but the game did not lead his mind to pleasant places so he found himself wondering what Hawke was doing, if she was safe. If the patrols were still going on then she at least hadn’t been caught. Still, four days was just enough time for him to start to forget things and he didn’t want to do that, at least that was his excuse for how many times he found himself remembering the curve of her smile and the crinkled lines at the corners of her eyes when she had laughed.

 

Maker, Isabela was right. He was smitten.

 

Lost in thought as he was, he did not notice he was not alone until a hand touched his shoulder. Anders leaped away from the shock, a strangled cry leaving him as he whirled around to see who had joined him. He expected to see one of his Guardians, come to urge him back to bed, or Maker how his heart ached to see Hawke- but it was neither.

 

Fenris was raising an unfairly elegant brow at him condescendingly. “I called to you five times.” He explained as if to a particularly dim-witted child.

 

Anders clutched his chest as he fought to calm his pounding heart and the demon that was raging at being caught unawares. “You aren’t allowed up here. And I don’t respond to ‘mage’, so that one’s on you.” He had patched his robes as best he could and found that when facing Fenris this time, he at least didn’t feel so exposed. 

 

“The Fereldan is gone, she is not in the chantry.” Fenris paid no mind to what Anders had said, regarding him coolly.

 

“My, my, slipped through your grasp, did she? That’s embarrassing.” Anders turned away with disinterest to head for his tower. 

 

Fenris was apparently not deterred as he doggedly followed after Anders retreating back. “It would be were it not for the obvious implication she had help in accomplishing it.” 

 

“A traitor amongst the guard? The scandal! Also, not my concern.” Anders slammed the door to his tower shut behind him. It was about as respected as he had come to anticipate from the elf when Fenris merely opened the door and followed him in.

 

“You helped her.”

 

Anders ground his teeth as he heard Fenris shutting the tower door, halting on the stairs to glare down at the elf. He would not invite the elf into his home. “Get out of my home, Fenris.” He chewed his words around the displeasure he felt. “You are not welcome here.”

 

“I mean her no harm.”

 

“She’s a mage, Fenris, you made it very clear you mean all mages harm.” Fenris was refusing to back down and Anders could feel his skin splitting with cracks of fadelight. As much as it seemed like Anders could get under the elf’s skin, the elf had a knack for getting under his as well. “Leave!”

 

Fenris boldly took a step forward instead, eyes narrowed at the abomination’s display but unflinching as he met the challenge. “I need to get a message to her. I had no idea Meredith would trap her here, I did not trick her.” Anders scoffed.

 

The cracks of Justice splitting his form were getting stronger as the demon took advantage of Anders’ anger. “I don’t believe you.”

 

“Just tell her, mage! Will you do that?” Fenris squared up to Anders but his voice was sincere as he insisted his earnesty. “It was the only way I could save her.”

 

That knocked Anders off guard. “You… you saved her?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“A mage?”

 

“...yes.” Softer then, but still as sincere. Fenris seemed as uncertain of his choice as Anders was wary of it, but Justice unhappily admitted he sensed no deception in the elf’s story and Anders took the demon at his word. “Will you tell her?”

 

He was smitten, too. And wasn’t that just the finest joke he’d ever heard? The apparently mage hating elf had soft and mushy feelings for the Fereldan apostate. Anders could not even bring himself to mock Fenris for it, he understood perfectly how Hawke just enraptured attention to her. She was a force of nature and Anders adored her for it. It stood to reason he would not be the only one, still… looking at the handsome elf before him Anders knew which of them he would choose, where he in Hawke’s place. He sighed deeply, the cracks in his skin fading and his eyes returning to brown. “I will.” He admitted. If Hawke ever came to him or he saw her again, which was unlikely and not a thought Anders wanted to share with Fenris. “Now, go.”

 

Fenris dipped his head in a nod and this time he did turn to leave. Anders was turning over the bitter twinge of jealousy in his heart when Fenris called back to him, “Thank you.”

 

Anders said nothing but he was surprised the elf had thanked him at all. 

 

“You poke your head out of this tower for one afternoon and suddenly all the pretty people are coming calling.” Isabela stifled a yawn into her hand as Anders startled and looked up the ladder to her. “Shouldn't he, oh I don't know, ask me for permission?” Isabela gave a wistful sigh as Anders passed. “I didn't ask for motherhood, it was thrust upon me-”

 

Anders rolled his eyes as he settled at his table, pulling his mortar and pestle towards him to at least do something productive with his evening if it wasn't going to be sleeping. “Yes, yes, you were putting your career first and then suddenly, ‘poof’ stone legs, stone arms, and a few years later a very not stone baby crying in the bell tower every night.” 

 

“You should have seen out dear Brother Sebastian changing nappies.” She guffawed at the precious memories.

 

“At least I did not squirm away from the task, Isabela.” Sebastian glared at her from across the room, apparently woken from his slumber or stillness, whatever it was. “Now, what is this about pretty people coming calling? Aye, I am almost certain they would need our permission.”

 

“‘Permission’?! I am not getting married- least of all to that mage hating elf. Pretty as he may be.” Anders’ ground the pestle so hard against the mortar that it screeched unpleasantly. As pathetic as he has been caught daydreaming of Hawke, at least he had been in a better mood. Now all he could think about was the tall, dark and handsome elf sweeping Hawke off her feet and how unfair it was. 

 

**You are jealous of them both.**

 

_ Pardon? _

 

**Your thoughts linger on the female and the elf evenly, wishing to have either dependent on your fantasy.** Justice sounded annoyed and he definitely didn't seem to understand why Anders was having these thoughts, but he could never permit Anders’ lies to go unchecked.

 

_ No I- my thoughts do not! _ Anders insisted.

 

**Yes, they do. You admire the elf as pleasing to look at.**

 

_ And hatefully against everything about me! _

 

**That is also true.** Anders wished he found Justice’s agreement more satisfying. Instead he was left with the feeling that Justice had simply made his point that Anders’ mind was drifting inexplicably in it's deviant thoughts. Maybe it was, what did it matter what he imagined? It wasn't as though he would ever be able to have any of it, his fantasies were all he had.

 

“What about the other one?” Isabela waved her hand dismissively. “She was a delicious little thing, now that one I give my permission to.”

 

“What?!” Anders snorted.

 

Sebastian raised his hands to about the length of Hawke’s cropped hair, “Dark hair, red paint across her nose, Fereldan- Hawke. Surely your memory is not that bad?” Anders figured his sour mood had to be bad if Sebastian was joining in the teasing. 

 

“Mhm,” Isabela winked at Anders, “Way to go, lover boy!”

 

Anders shot a narrowed eyed look at Isabela’s thoughtful expression. He had no doubts her mind was firmly in the gutter at the sight of her bitten lip. “Hawke isn't coming back. It's been four days, she'd be a fool to risk it and I wouldn't want that. Better she stays far away from me or Meredith or even that blasted Guard-Captain. As long as she's safe and free.”

 

“That's very noble of you, Anders.” Aveline had joined them now, unable to sleep with the noise, but she didn't seem annoyed at having been disturbed. As complimentary as her words were, they sounded sad at his defeated attitude. “But what does that leave you?”

 

Anders refused to acknowledge her question as no acceptable answer would come to him, but it cut him to the bone with it's sharp way of getting the unpleasant truth to resonate in him. It left him with nothing, as had always been the way, but now he knew what it was he was missing it was harder to swallow. Impossible, even. Thick in his throat and hurting as he breathed with all the ferocity of the dragons he had read about in his books.

 

Aveline sighed again, as though she had any idea what Anders was thinking. “Anders-”

  
“No!” He slammed the pestle he had been using down on the table. “Don’t ‘Anders’ me!” Anders rose from his chair and turned to face his guardians, their stone faces grim at his anger. “Do you know how many people I’ve seen fall in love from this tower? How many couples I have seen kiss and walk hand in hand down these streets- Maker, I’ve seen them fuck against the chantry walls in their excitement!” Sebastian gave a scandalised look at that. “And every time I have wondered what that must feel like! What could it possibly feel like to have someone love you so much they want to shout it to the heavens, to want to hold your hand for all to see and kiss you every moment they can!” Anders slumped onto his palms over the table, bearing his weight on his hands and shaking. He did not want to cry but it didn’t seem he could stop it. Maker, how he ached and how he wished it would stop. “You think I don’t see how beautiful she is? How friendly and open she was with me? I can’t _ stop _ thinking of it! But Andraste’s fucking arse, I can’t bear it! She could never love me! I’m an abomination!” A splash of white darkened the vellum of the map across the table, a perfect splatter mark of dark brown surrounded in tanned, aging yellow. Anders let himself focus on that mark and nothing else. He had thought his longing for freedom bad before he had left the tower, but having given in had only made the longing worse. 

 

Now Anders knew what he was missing- the good and the bad- and he knew what it was to feel that sunshine light touch of warmth on his heart of looking at someone who didn’t see the monster in him, but saw the man. Someone he wanted so very much and knew he could not, and would not, ever have. 

 

Aveline seized his shoulders had, holding him to face her with a fierce look. “You do not ever get to decide how someone else feels, Anders. It is their choice to make, do you hear me?” She squeezed his shoulders hard, bruising deep, when he simply stared at her. “I said, ‘do you hear me’?”

 

“I-I hear you.” He croaked. “But-”

 

“No, Anders. There are no caveats to that; her heart is her own, you cannot will it one way or another. Whatever your heart decides, wherever it leads you, be true to that. She may not return those feelings or she may, it isn’t for you to decide, but you love with all your heart and do not ever dare to think you are not deserving of the same love in return.” Avenline’s deathly tight grip on his shoulders eased slowly until she was holding him as warmly as he stone palms could allow, a stern expression as she nodded to Anders. “I mean that, Anders. Never live your life as though you are anything less than that.”

 

Anders face twisted in distress. Everything he had been brought up to believe told him Aveline was wrong. Meredith had been the only human company he had known, even Orsino had been taken from him very young, and but for his guardians made of stone he had been alone. Alone and at Meredith’s mercy, and her teachings. Where Anders knew himself to be a mage and an abomination and should be lucky even to be alive, these same things did not apply to Hawke. She was vibrant in her life, every bit as opposite to how Anders knew to categorise a mage. She was kind and loving and gentle, and Anders could not even think to call her a monster. She just wasn’t. “But Meredith-”

 

“Is wrong.” Isabela said firmly. “People can be wrong, Anders.”

 

And wasn’t that a thought- one that he kept having. Meredith was wrong. That little niggling thought was taking root and timidly, hesitantly, Anders was beginning to think that maybe, it just might be possible for Hawke to love him back.

 

\---

 

Meredith sat before a roaring fireplace in her office with her hand tight around a goblet of wine she had not brought to her lips in a long while. The dancing flicker of the flames had her rapt attention, a focal point as her mind churned. Four days she had been unable to rid herself of these fevered thoughts. They plagued her night and day, a blight that not prayer, private libation nor frenzied denial could move. 

 

When she had slept it had been to fall into the clutches of yet more temptations that in her slumber she could not defend herself from. The fade held nothing but the Void’s own nightmare for her, demons she was sure of it, that tantalized her senses with desire. They enflamed her soul with the basest of needs, leaving her to wake aching with need and burdened by shame. There was no forgiveness in her prayers to the Maker or his Bride, and she felt adrift. Meredith was sure once she caught Hawke and brought her to justice that she herself might find some peace once again, but every day that Hawke evaded her only incensed her more. The letter from her new Guard-Captain’s second, Donnic, informing her that the guards would be returning to their regular patrols as the Fereldan was no longer in the chantry lay crumpled at her feet. She would not believe it, certain that Cullen would find Hawke within those walls. What else could she believe? That Hawke had somehow escaped her? It was impossible. 

 

The idea of it, of Hawke’s smirking face winking as she danced free of Meredith’s grasp once more, made Meredith’s skin itch as though it were too tight. She ground her teeth and hurled the goblet of wine from her grasp. It did not shatter against the floor as glass might have, but the noise allowed her to feel as though she had accomplished something. The seeping wine into the rich carpets however, felt like mockery. Red like the dress Hawke had worn, red like the stripe of paint across her nose, red like…

 

Red like the scarf she had hung about Meredith’s neck. The scarf that Meredith had kept. 

 

It was weakness that bade her to keep it, weakness and longing for something she hated Hawke for making her want. Abstinence was not mandatory in the order but laying with a mage? It went against everything Meredith believed in, mages were not even people! They were wretched, pathetic creatures just waiting to fall prey to demons and Meredith could not stomach that she wanted one so deeply. The mage’s tricks and wiles had ensnared her, inflaming her desires. How could the Maker expect her to resist when he had made a mage so much more tempting than her will to resist? 

 

But oh, how these deviant temptations whispered to her. If Hawke were hers, Meredith could make her the very model of what any mage could hope to be when brought to heel. If Hawke were hers, she would be made anew in Meredith’s hands. If Hawke were hers...

 

The scarf had found it’s way into Meredith’s hand, tucked as it usually was beneath her armour but Meredith was not wearing her armour and the scarf was in alluring reach. It still smelled of the Fereldan. Her scented hair oils still lingering on the scrap of fabric toyed with Meredith, letting her remember vividly how it had felt to be pressed against Hawke’s back. The memory of how Hawke had protested in Meredith’s grip made her ache, like a caught bird she had felt helpless and all for Meredith. Pulled taut and left with nothing to do but submit to Meredith’s will and it was all Meredith could think of. 

 

She inhaled deeply of the scarf in her grasp and let her eyes fall closed. Meredith pictured Hawke upon her lap once more, as the mage had been at the festival, but this time the teasing look upon Hawke’s face was one of worship. The image shifted and Meredith pictured Hawke dancing again, her body obscenely moving but before the fire for only Meredith to see and covet, to end with Hawke sinking to her knees and submitting herself to Meredith’s pleasures. 

 

Meredith’s free hand not pressing the scarf to her face drifted down to where she felt her aching want so keenly, the heel of her hand pressing hard against herself through her trousers. This is what that wretched mage had reduced her to; touching herself like a fool, all for the want of a mage who should be under her thumb anyway. Hawke’s freedom was an insult to the Maker, one Meredith would correct, and when the time came for the brand to be offered it would be Meredith’s generosity that extended Hawke the gift of another choice. Neither the sword or the brand, but a gift altogether more than the apostate deserved. 

 

In her fantasies the Fereldan apostate’s eyes scorched into her soul and flayed her bare, as they had upon the stage at the festival, all the more compelling for how they mirrored Meredith’s own yearning, however. Meredith hungered to reach for the imagined mage upon the floor at her knees, to wrap her hands around Hawke and possess her as thoroughly as she knew only she deserved. Hawke’s fluttering eyes and flirting manners were abhorrent and Meredith would see them stamped out, until all Hawke lived for were Meredith’s whims.

 

Meredith’s fingers pressed firmer against herself as she pictured the look of gratitude Hawke would give her once Meredith caught her- saved her from herself, even. The defiant fire in the mage’s eyes that Meredith would tame under her own will, that indecent mouth, every inch of skin- all of it Meredith’s. Her need pulsed hard in her and she groaned into the scarf, a plea to the Maker for how difficult he made it to be virtuous in his eyes and how ardently she worked to keep the city safe. She refused to fall prey to a mage, but that same mage would be her prey instead. Meredith could do this, she could shackle another mage and keep Kirkwall protected, but all the while keep her own desires fulfilled. 

 

It worked out neatly in her mind and all that remained was for-

 

A knock came to the door of her office.

 

“Knight-Commander Meredith,” Cullen opened the door without pausing. Meredith knew he could not see her as the high backed chair faced the fire- directly opposite from the door- yet still, the shame and sin heaped upon her as the fantasy shattered. Reality was the harsh and embittering chase her quarry still led her on, the mockery of it in the hand Meredith had still pressed to her crotch. She would delight in breaking Hawke for all the ways Hawke had tormented her. “The refugee has escaped.”

 

Meredith’s blood ran cold at that. Fenris had not lied to her. As apathetic as he had seemed to her determination she had been so certain he was wrong. “What?” She hissed, desire cooling so fast to endless rage.

 

“She is nowhere in the chantry, as the Guard-Captain said, she has… escaped.”

 

Meredith surged from her seat and whirled around to face Cullen across the room, uncaring of the red scarf she had no viciously twined tight in her grasp so clear for Cullen to see. “But how-?! I-I…” The how of it didn’t matter, not for the moment. Meredith grit her teeth. “Get out!” She roared instead, the rushed obedience Cullen displayed at leaving her doing nothing to help how Meredith’s blood boiled. “I’ll find her.” She swore to herself and the Maker. Her hands wrung the scarf tight, twisting it as she wanted to twist Hawke’s neck and feel the mage writhe under her, to gift her the helpless sensation Meredith felt being pulled along in Hawke’s wake. “I’ll find her if I have to burn down all of Kirkwall.” Meredith turned once more to the raging fire that still left her feeling cold, raising the scarf to her lips once more as she breathed, “You will be mine,” A dark promise pressed into the fabric as she tossed it into the fire, “Or you will burn.” 

 

Meredith was her salvation and if Hawke would not see it then Meredith had no choice. It was either submission to Meredith or Meredith would make an example of her for all to see, as they had once done to mages in ages passed, and Meredith would put her to the stake. Let damnation and the Void claim her, for there was no embrace of the Maker to save her without Meredith’s guidance. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like fire, Hellfire, This fire in my skin,   
> This burning, Desire, Is turning me to sin

“Ah, Guard-Captain,” The chantry sister dipped her head, a faint blush claiming her cheeks as she greeted Fenris. Fenris himself had come to realise that those that desired him often capitulated to the respect of his ranking far easier than those who only saw his ears and would not listen no matter the title he carried. It was something he had thought would be a useful tool but it turned out to be one he was ill-equipped to use with much skill. He had no use for coy flirtations, when he reciprocated he found it much simpler to be blunt. Cutting to the heart of the matter saved time and energy, yet the few sisters who tittered and sighed he passed seemed content in simply looking. That did, however, suit him just fine. Fenris had no desire to work his way through the cloistered maidens anyway. The respect was nice though. 

  
“Sister.” He nodded to her in return, watching her blush darken. Donnic had awkwardly informed him that his gravelling tone did not always intimidate, certainly not when he was politely speaking to someone. 

 

Fenris did not halt for idle chit-chat with the sister, however, marching straight passed her with a momentum he had gained since leaving his desk. Paperwork and city in turmoil be damned, this was the final straw. He ignored the filthy looks from the chantry-goers as he clanked his way in full armour to the stairs at the rear tower where one of Meredith’s templars halted him.

 

“I can’t let you up, Guard-Captain. Meredith’s orders.” The templar drawled, clearly bored out of his mind. “No one is to be admitted to the tower but her.”

 

Fenris stopped but he was not perturbed. “Samson, wasn’t it?” Samson nodded and gave a raised eyebrow at Fenris’ obvious agitation. “You will let me through.”   
  


“Will I, now?”

 

“I will owe you one favour.” 

 

The other eyebrow rose up Samson’s face at that. “That’s a mighty offer from you.”

 

Fenris’ already dour expression darkened. “A man so taken with arguing with his boss is in need of favours. Do you accept?”

 

“Far be it for me to impede the mighty Guard-Captain,” Samson teased, accepting in bemusement as Fenris marched passed him. 

 

Fenris took the stairs two at a time, his jaw tense and shoulders squared, prepared for a fight before he even reached the top. He found none as he crossed the roof walkway to the isolated tower he was aiming for. The early morning hour had the bells ringing louder with every step that carried Fenris closer to the bell tower, the sound of them setting him flinching at each intrusive bong and clang. 

 

It was too late for him to really consider the implication of the ringing bells until he had already invaded the privacy of the mage’s tower to the deafening cacophony of music. 

 

The sound was not the main issue, however, that Fenris could handle. The thing that brought Fenris up short was the sight of the mage himself as he hurried from platform to platform, up and down ladders and ropes, swinging across some with astounding agility. Anders was as nimble as a dancer with it, inelegant and unrefined in the way that meant he did it with enjoyment, a surprising wide smile across his face as he leaped from bell to bell. Fenris was a little thrown by the mage’s attire, or lack of it rather. 

 

Ringing the bells of the chantry in their adoring symphonies could not be, and did not look to be, idle work. In what Anders would have been right to assume was a private tower he had no doubt seen the removal of his robe down to just his trousers and boot as a practical solution to the dripping sweat Fenris could see running down the mage’s skin. The mage’s skin that was not at all how Fenris might have expected, if indeed he had thought to imagine the mage’s skin at all. Which he had not. The magisters and mages of Tevinter had had a certain idolisation of what the perfect mage should possess, and an admirable physique was part of that, but none of them that Fenris had ever been around had been exposed to more than a sedentary academic life. They were used to posturing and never using effort where magic or a slave might suffice. 

 

Anders was not like that.

 

Anders was lithe, as sinewy as he was broad shoulder and in need of filling out. Fenris could count ribs below criss-crossed lines of scars both old and new, another surprising discovery he would never had guessed to mar the body of a mage. The freckles, Fenris had refused to admit he had noticed the first time he was close to Anders, were not confined to his face. For a man who mustn’t have had much opportunity to be in the sun he had freckles on his shoulders, over his chest, down his back, Fenris could even see them on his hips. Scarred and thin and alluring. There was little grace to him but there was a sweet, endearing earnesty that Fenris could see while Anders remained unaware of being observed. 

 

The bells wound down and Fenris was lost in tracing the dips and rises of Anders’ shoulders as he worked, until Anders seized the final bell and swung down the length of rope to land on the ground of the main loft space. Framed in greenery, Anders rose from his half crouch to suck in hard breaths of air. He stood with his back to Fenris, proud and tall, the satisfaction of his completed task granting him a moment's peace, as Fenris realised too late that he had rudely entered where he had not been invited. 

 

Anders had turned to face him however and any thought of making a polite escape were dashed at the frozen, wide-eyed stare of the mage catching his unannounced guest. Fenris’ gaze fixed on the sweat soaked hair, following a bead on the mage’s brow as it slid down the side of Anders’ face to dangle from his jaw and land on his chest. Indecent, Fenris thought, that this mage could look so debauched and Fenris had to suffer the sight of it. He swallowed hard around a sudden tightness in his throat. 

 

The mage frowned, snatching up a much worn, barely held together, rag towel that he ran over his face. He hung it over one shoulder but it did not seem to obscure him as Anders seemed to be trying to accomplish, shifting uncomfortably as he was under Fenris’ gaze. “For someone who doesn’t like mages, you’re almost a regular here now.” He kept toweling himself off as he moved towards a desk in the centre of the tower to retrieve his robe. “What do you want now? I haven’t passed your message to Hawke yet, I haven’t seen her.” 

 

Fenris strode forward then, driven by the mage’s flippant attitude to shake himself free of the bewitching hold Anders had clearly placed him under. He placed a glass jar onto the table. It bore the chantry’s seal atop the lid as well as a brown label with neat, handwritten instructions. “I found this on my desk this morning. Brought to me, Donnic tells me, by one of the chantry sisters here.” 

 

Anders looked from the jar to Fenris with a raised eyebrow. “Is this what passes for a ‘thank you’ from you?”

 

“I told you not to do anything about my brands. I assume that is what this is? An ointment appears on my desk with the chantry seal when no one but you has expressed an intent in concerning themselves with matters that do not concern them, I can only assume it is you, mage,” Fenris snapped. 

 

“You do have to be dramatic, don’t you?” Anders pulled his robe on over his head, the tie in his hair becoming dislodged and falling about his face in disarray. He tsked under his breath and turned about to find it, muttering under his breath, “Grumpy elves don’t know how to give a simple thank you, it took me days to get the balance of herbs right, doesn’t even look like the blighted nug-humper has even tried the damned thing!” Giving up on his hair tie Anders turned to Fenris again. “What, do you think I’ve poisoned it? The worst I have up here is rashvine and that stuff needs to be dried into a powder to be as deadly as itching powder- that’s it.”

 

Snagging the jar with one hand and popping the lid with another, Anders dipped a finger into the ointment and set about rubbing it into his hands. He gestured from the open jar sitting on the table to the now greased hands, waggling them for emphasis. Fenris bared his teeth in answer.

 

“Cease meddling in my affairs, mage. Do as the chantry bids you and no more. Magic serves man.” Fenris bit out the chantry rhetoric without even thinking on it but the way Anders flinched had him recalling the marks upon the mage’s back. The many crisscrossing lines that Fenris was all too familiar with, marred upon a mage’s back in a way that Fenris could not reconcile with how he thought mages deserved to be treated The evidence of such cruelties on the infuriating mage’s skin was… confusing. 

 

Anders was quiet a moment as he methodically fastened the lid back into place on the jar. He contemplated the label affixed to it- chicken scratch that Fenris hadn’t been able to read- and took a heavy breath. “I thought that’s what I was doing. It would help you, thereby serving you.”

 

The feeling that sprang up on Fenris’ belly at the soft explanation offered to him was disgust. Not at Anders but at the idea of it; of Anders almost having no autonomy over the thought of it. His place was to serve man, any way he could, and where Fenris had expected apathy and the need to be ordered to act Anders was applying his chained rules without pause. Was it kindness? If Hawke had done it, it would have been unbelievable generosity and care, but Anders? Was it still kindness if it was wrapped in servitude? 

 

“I have no need of your services.” Fenris answered, because the answer was no. From a former slave the answer would always be no.

 

Anders’ eyes snapped up to Fenris’, the backbone he always seemed to have with anyone who wasn’t Meredith that was strengthening every time Fenris saw the mage in the defiant tilt of his chin. “Consider it a gift then. Free of charge.”

 

“You don’t charge anyway.”

 

“The chantry does.” Anders shrugged. “I told the templar that came to collect them that you had already paid. He thinks it is a cream for something you tend to catch from a brothel.” Fenris’ glare came back tenfold at that. His pain was hidden from any who might exploit it still, but once more the mage had aggravated him. “I figured a bit of humanity would do your stoic guard persona some good, and bonus! Your secret is still safe.” Anders offered the jar out again. 

 

Slowly, very slowly, Fenris firm stance that he would refuse the ointment softened. “How do I… apply it?”

 

“As the label says.” Anders tapped the jar.

 

For a moment he thought Fenris was being deliberately obtuse but then he took in the tight expression and the stiffly upheld jaw as Fenris snatched the jar from him. 

 

“Oh.” Anders breathed, “I’m sorry.”

 

Apologies with Fenris went about as well as any other time Anders dared to exist in the elf’s direction. “‘Sorry’? I have no uses for your apologies either, mage.” But comprehension had dawned in Anders’ eyes and no amount of sneering would stop it. 

 

“I can teach you, you know?” Anders offered brightly, “It’ll mean having to spend time with a disgusting abomination, but I promise no magic and I won’t mock you for it. Orsino only taught me so I would stop asking him about things and he could just give me a book instead.” The mage gestured to the stacked piles about the loft space, well thumbed and dog-eared books that looked very old and barely held together in some places. “If it’s Samson on guard, which it usually is during the night, you can give him this.” Anders lifted one of the many vials laid out carefully on a nearby shelf. He held it to his other hand and with a gentle pull of magic so timid it felt like a brush against Fenris’ brands, Anders conjured a colourless liquid to fill the vial.

 

The mage held the vial out to him after stoppering it, apparently already decided that Fenris would be coming back to need bribery for the guard of his tower. It irritated Fenris that the mage wasn’t wrong, either, Fenris was captivated at the chance to gain a skill he had been so long deprived of and it was easier to agree to something when Anders had not outright said it. The problem was clear, and the mage seemed to be respecting Fenris’ clear discomfort of his inability to read or write which was unexpected. If there was an ulterior motive then Fenris could not see it. Anders had not the outside awareness of the Thedas to even possibly know a way to use this against Fenris aside from petty jibes he had yet to seize at, and yet Fenris could not understand why the mage would offer him lessons. Or, he thought as he looked to the jar in his hand, his healing. 

 

With his free hand Fenris took the vial, already knowing he would be back soon. Abomination or not, Anders was not untrustworthy. A mage, yes, a threat, not particularly. “What use has Knight of the Order for flammable oil?” Fenris asked instead, bypassing the awkwardness he felt at Anders’ delighted expression. 

 

The blonde ducked his head, hair falling in his face in a becoming fashion. Fenris wondered, had it always been that golden? “Um, that’s not… well, that’s not it’s only use.” Fenris’ confused silence urged Anders to continue. “Well, ah, hmm… it make for a pretty decent, well, lube. For, you know…” Anders mimed a crude penetrating gesture with two fingers pushing up in the air and the rest of his fingers curled into his palm. His cheeks were tinged pink but the impish glee of the dirtiness of it was childish and Fenris found his eyebrows shooting up before he drew them down to frown at the vial in his hand. 

 

“You make your point quite vividly, mage.” 

 

Anders waved his hands up in a wide shrug. “You asked.”

 

“True enough.” 

 

And like that the agreement was made. Fenris nodded to the mage and was half down the ladder before Anders called to him suddenly, “The ointment says rub once daily into brands. I’m working on a stronger one but, uh, well, I have nothing in my books about living with lyrium in skin.” 

 

Fenris gave a wry smile. “No… I would imagine you do not. I thank you for the ‘gift’ however.” And he was surprised to find it was sincere. He was genuinely touched by the gesture and Anders’ fierceness the elf take it, determined to help however he could. The closest Fenris had ever come to a gift before had been Pavali and he had won her in a card game. Besides, he did not like to think he owned her, so much as they had a mutually beneficial arrangement in which he cared for her and she permitted him to ride her. 

 

Anders let Fenris leave after that, a little giddy to think he had given an open invitation for the elf to return- and he was more likely able to make use of it than Hawke. Maker, Anders hoped she was okay but prickly or not Fenris was good company as well.

 

“I thought we were aiming for Hawke?” Isabela whispered loudly to Sebastian, their three stone faces peering over the platform above when Anders craned his neck to see.

 

“‘We’?” Aveline repeated incredulously.

 

“I’m living vicariously, not that Fenris is a bad choice either.”

 

Sebastian shook his head at Isabela. “Anders is a good, kind, lad. He deserves someone who compliments that and shows him the wonders of the world, all the while making sure he is loved and happy, I am not sure his needs compliment either of these two.”

 

Isabela gasped and knocked Sebastian’s shoulder. “Did you just say our boy is too good for them? Even the mage bits?”

 

Sebastian folded his arms, a little ruffled at Isabela’s cooing, but regarded the ladder the elf had left down with a certain curiosity. He settled for saying, “Anders has a name, Fenris would do well to use it.” It was as protective as Anders had ever known Sebastian to be when it came to something that challenged his clearly defined chantry rules. Rules that meant Anders, as a mage, should be prevented from romantic entanglements, yet here Sebastian was not only considering the idea but determining it as a possibility enough to dismiss the two apparent candidates. 

 

“Hawke is a trouble maker,” Aveline agreed with a nod of her head, “But she is more open in her affections of Anders which is good.” With even Aveline joining in the loud discussion of his nonexistent love life Anders had to intervene.

 

“Knock it off, guys. I’m just teaching the guy to read.” Anders called up.

 

“Hey, can I have Hawke then?” Isabela called back.

 

Anders snorted, “If stone is what appeals to Hawke then be my guest, I wouldn’t stand a chance anyway.”

 

“Deal!” Isabela crowed in delight as Anders sat at his table. 

 

He had lesson plans to draw up.

 

\---

 

House arrest suited Hawke about as well as bed rest did. She was not a one made for confinement and be it necessary by her own foolishness it gnawed at her until she was an unbearable child about it. 

 

Leandra’s patience could only bend so far for her daughter’s brash and bored behaviour before she was practically shoving her into Varric’s tent. “Play cards, have a few drinks, I don’t care, daughter mine, but Maker preserve me do not leave Darktown or I will drag you back by your ear, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, mother!” Hawke crowed in delight before disappearing into Varric’s tent.

 

“Maker preserve me, Hawke!” Varric cast a hand to wave away the dwarf he had tired of talking with. Hawke only had eyes for Varric as the other dwarf left and Hawke clasped Varric’s hand warmly. “Escaped your mother, huh?”

 

Hawke shrugged. “More like thrown at you for a little while.”

 

“Well, you have caused a pretty huge stir. Smuggling just about anything is a nightmare right now, anyone with even a whiff of Fereldan about them is getting interrogated in the streets about you- you’re a popular woman above ground, not so much down here.”

 

Hawke snagged a bottle of wine from Varric’s side table before settling into one of the stools in his tent. “What else is new?” She took a long pull from the bottle before continuing, “Although, isn’t it nice for Kirkwall to be talking about these slums at all? Better than how they usually pretend we don’t exist like we’ll just disappear back to where we came from.” Hawke gave Varric a wry smile. “You’re the only Kirkwaller I’ve liked so far.”

 

Varric touched a hand to his heart. “You flatter me.” Hawke raised the bottle in a toast to him that had the dwarf chuckling. He shook his head at her before leafing through a pile of letters and correspondence he had on his table. “Here, a little more information on what we’re looking for.”

 

Hawke greedily set aside the bottle for the letter. “I thought you’d exhausted all your contacts? That letter to Tevinter about the extent of what blood magic could turn people into seemed to be the last straw.”

 

Varric took the discarded bottle to swig his own mouthful from it. “I’m offended, Hawke. When am I ever out of options?”

 

“Good point.” 

 

The letter was unmarked and Hawke unfolded it to see scrawled writing, barely legible, spotted with ink splatter and smudges. She raised an eyebrow at the mess of it. “Varric, how reliable is this source of yours?”

 

“Templar reliable.”

 

“You’re shitting me.” Hawke’s jaw dropped at Varric’s sincere shake of his head.

 

“Even I can’t make this shit up.” Varric leaned on the table to point at the letter. “That letter came to me from one of those templars grabbing one of the orphans near the lifts and telling him to bring this to ‘the dwarf that knows Hawke’.” He seemed amused to be relegated to sidekick even as Hawke herself wasn’t so sure she liked the entire city knowing her name and her friends so well. It put them in danger. “‘Bout all the kid could tell me was the templar was a man. I was discreet in my digging for these artifacts, too. But somehow word has gotten to someone that you’re looking for something in the chantry. Someone who knows what these damn things look like.”

 

She turned her attention to the letter again. It was brief, if difficult to read:  _ The three artifacts you want. They are statues. They know the truth. _

 

“I’d guess our friend here, templar as he apparently is, knows the truth too. Is it worth finding him?” Hawke turned the page over and around in her hands like it might reveal more than the poorly written words she had deciphered.

 

“It’s your call, but we know the location and now we know what we’re looking for, why not just go for the chantry?”

 

Hawke let the letter fall to the table and pressed a hand over her mouth. “Um…”

 

“What is it?” Varric gripped the neck of the wine bottle tighter. He had grown to hate it when Hawke was reluctant to confess something. 

 

“So… I might have met them.”

 

Varric bowed his head and closed his eyes, as if asking the Maker himself for strength. “I’m sorry, what? You’ve ‘met’ the artifacts we’re looking for?”

 

“They’re, well… they’re alive. Statues, but,” Hawke moved her arms up and down in a wild waving motion, “Not very statue-like. And one of them has a very distracting rack.” Hawke grinned, trailing off in thought 

 

Muffled from how his face was buried in his hands, Varric asked, “So you met three, what, talking? Walking? Moving statues? In the chantry, where we were looking for three artifacts, and you didn’t guess that they might just be what we were looking for?”

 

“Look, Bethany was the smart Hawke, alright?”

 

“Evidently.” Varric lowered his hands and took another fortifying gulp from the wine bottle, corking it and setting it aside when Hawke reached for it. “Well, we know now. So how do we go about getting into the damn place? You’ve kind of got the city on high alert already, and we’ve not even stolen anything yet.”

 

Hawke flashed him a guilty grimace. “We’re going to need Merrill with us, too.” At the aghast look she shrugged. “It’s probably going to be easier to get a blood mage through Meredith’s patrols than three statues.”

 

“You think so?” Varric asked her with dripping sarcasm. “This plan is insane.”

 

Hawke nodded glumly, tracing her fingers over the letter that had helped them to connect the dots in a way she hadn’t seen. Someone was on their side, be it the Maker or just those in Kirkwall resistant to Meredith’s rule. That had to count for something. “With any luck Meredith will calm down and it’ll be a piece of cake? Not like it can get any worse, right?”

 

The dwarf buried his face in his hands again with a groan. “You had to fucking say it…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris reaches a breaking point where he has to decide between right and wrong.

Fenris felt a rather giddy lack of guilt as he sat astride Pavali in front of the ranked lines of templars and city guardsmen awaiting Meredith’s arrival. He had thought the audacity of his sneaking into the chantry to take reading lessons from her pet abomination would have made him as uneasy as he had felt when he had first dared to defy Danarius. There was a refreshing strength in knowing that he did not feel anything of the like, not that he had even regarded her as his mistress in any way but the concern had been there that he might have not been able to hide his deception. 

 

If anything, all he felt was a certain degree of his own defiance in how he held himself. He would not be cowed by this woman and even if she knew, he wouldn’t regret any of it. He was beginning to grasp the letters and sounds they made in the few days study the mage had granted him- with homework he studiously refused to put down- and Fenris did not feel he owed anyone an excuse for how he was learning. That the mage’s ointment had eased his pains and only got better with each batch was a bonus, as was the man’s company. Fenris did not want to be pulled into complacency with a possessed mage, he would be a fool to even contemplate it, but it was so easy to with Anders. He was so full of his own self hatred that Fenris only felt as though he were kicking an already beaten dog further into the dirt. Though Anders did have a sharp wit he seemed to hone in Fenris’ presence. They had quickly learned the topic of mages and magic was not one they were ever going to resolve, but Anders was too invested in having company and Fenris too invested in learning to read and write for them to keep trying to argue the point.

 

In the wake of it all Fenris had waited for Meredith’s persecution of one Fereldan apostate to slacken. Where he had thought to admire her tenacity once, he was beginning to suspect that what drove her was not the single-minded conviction that the apostate be brought under chantry law. The marks he had seen scarred into Anders’ skin were familiar enough for Fenris not to need to ask- nor was it his place to- and he had only one person in mind for who had inflicted them. It made his stomach clench unpleasantly to think of Anders, with his hunched shoulders and frightened twitching, at her mercies. Or Hawke, if Meredith caught her. What a predicament Fenris had snared himself into, sympathising with mages. 

 

Though Anders scowls and bitter remarks of how Fenris followed Meredith’s decrees to hunt out apostates reminded Fenris he had not entirely lost his way. It should have been assuring but it did not sit as one any more.

 

Fenris patted Pavali’s neck as Meredith’s carriage drew to a halt in front of them. The horse snorted with her distaste of the creaking iron mass that Meredith stepped down from, Fenris fighting down a smirk at Pavali’s irritation before he looked to Meredith.

 

Meredith did not look hale, as though she had spent the last week or so with little to no sleep. Fenris was surprised to see her looking so affected and with it being so obviously to do with the evasion of Hawke from her grasp it had Fenris reevaluating his already shaken trust in Meredith’s leadership. 

 

Fenris shot an uncertain look to Cullen but the line of the man’s mouth only tightened, of course he would not think to question his Knight-Commander.

 

“Your orders?” Fenris said instead, bypassing any tedious greetings that he was not in the mood for. Anders had given him a particular set of words with similar letters but different sounds and he had spent his evening trying to understand the logic of it, so he wasn’t particularly well rested either. Not that he ever was for idle small talk.

 

Meredith straightened and her bloodshot gaze narrowed onto Fenris. She had yet to step down from the carriage and Fenris thought it had more to do with refusing to look up at him atop his horse than any reluctance to move much. “My orders, Guard-Captain, are unchanged. It is your pathetic methods that have thus far disappointed me. We will find the apostate and I will show you how it is to succeed in rooting these vermin out.”

 

Meredith’s horse was brought before her to mount and she began to direct groups of templars and guards out together. Her instruction was to use any means necessary to bring her the apostate alive.

 

Fenris heard Samson whispering to Cullen, a careful half turn of his head revealing the templar having seized the Knight-Captain’s arm hard. “What does she mean ‘any means necessary’, Rutherford?”

 

“Rutherford, is it?” Cullen snapped back, his voice a low, bitter snarl. 

 

“It is when I can’t stand to see you licking Meredith’s fucking arse, what in the Maker’s name is she doing?”

 

Cullen wrenched his arm free from Samson’s grasp. “What must be done to protect this city.” Cullen sounded as unsure as Fenris felt, the incredulous distrust in Samson’s gaze making Cullen storm away from the other templar. Dissent in Meredith’s ranks only validated how Fenris felt, but he forced himself to follow after her lead as she had bid him. 

 

First was the baker’s. The cohort of men following Meredith’s lead jumped into action as she nodded to the building, armoured boots kicking down the rickety door. It splintered from it’s hinges as years of woodworm and weathering crumpled like paper under the onslaught. The baker himself leapt out of his skin at the sudden invasion. Fenris felt his face pull down in a wary frown as the man was dragged out and where Fenris expected him to be outraged at the treatment there was only fear. He peered up at Meredith and Fenris on their horses with such wide-eyed horror that Fenris felt sick. He had seen looks like that before, in the faces of people he had called friends until his master had ordered him to murder every last one of them. He had sworn he would never again bow to another’s will like this, but standing idly by seemed as bad as if he were the one carrying out the orders. 

 

The templars were precise without orders being spoken and such familiarity in their brutality had the guardsmen looking to Fenris for orders. He gave none. Fenris’ men held the baker in custody as the templars ransacked the shop, upending shelves and barrells, the man’s livelihood spilling over the floor. Fenris had bought bread from this shop two days ago and the baker had thrown in a pot of honey as a welcome to the city present. Now, the man looked at him as though he saw only a monster. 

 

Then, the templars found the trapdoor to the cellar.

 

Cowering in the belly of the shop were two families of refugees, fighting as they were hauled out into the street by hard gloved hands of templars to hurl at the feet of the city guard. 

 

“You see, Guard-Captain?” Meredith sneered down at the refugees being shackled together. “They hide like rats in the walls and floors of this city, to catch them one must think like a rat.” She drew her horse to stand before the chained families, from the men and women to the children she glowered down at them in righteous fury before holding out a pouch of coin. The clink of the contents was probably more than the refugees could hope to make in a month. “Ten silvers for the apostate Hawke.” Her offer felt as inviting as sticking one’s hand into a darkspawn’s mouth and yet Fenris was still surprised, and impressed, when they all stubbornly bowed their heads in defiance. 

 

Hawke’s actions had caused the refugees yet more pain and suffering and still they would not give her up. With Fereldan’s king having freed the Circle there, were they really so of a different mind to magic? Did they see Hawke as no different from them? It seemed it, as determinedly as they kept their mouths closed. The solidarity was inspiring, even as Fenris cringed at Meredith’s order to lock them up. 

 

Something roiled distastefully in Fenris’ stomach. It burned with each passing moment he remained silent and had his agitation rising, fingers clenching fitfully in Pavali’s reins. She pulled on his hold as she sensed his disquiet, matching it with her own as she scuffed her front hooves in the dirt and tossed her head. She wanted action, as impatient as Fenris himself was, but Fenris could not say he knew the correct course of action. He had always thought anything was worth the capture and subduing of dangerous mages, yet Hawke had done nothing more than snub her nose to the city’s leader and here Meredith was dragging the poor and unfortunates onto the streets- all in the name of protecting the city. What were they protecting it from? To Fenris, it was starting to look as though the city needed protecting from Meredith.

 

Fenris cast a glance to the chantry, as ever dominating the skyline, and wondered what Anders would say if he was here. Something foolish and idealistic, no doubt. Fenris was half terrified to wonder if he might agree with whatever statement Anders might have, however, as he watched Meredith’s men seize a refugee’s cart. It was all the group had, loaded with their belongings and lovingly decorated in Fereldan patterns and colours. It was worn and aged but clearly loved.

 

When the shackled refugees refused to answer after every possession they had was tossed into the dock, Meredith had the cart pushed in as well. With them inside. Fenris nodded to his guardsmen to fish them out, Donnic’s unsettled expression reflecting Fenris’ own. He ignored Meredith’s acidic comment of his soft nature as the people were settled on the dock once more, chained and still unbending to Meredith’s will. Whatever Fereldan bore it’s people upon it was strong stuff, no matter the twenty silvers she tempted them with this time the refugees would not succumb. 

 

“Take them away!” Meredith seethed. Disgust was evident in her voice but Fenris could find nothing but a grudging respect for these people. 

 

The guards were as disquieted as Fenris was, shifting uncertainly before acting and with such slow, unwilling motions it chafed at Fenris. Everything about this felt wrong, it itched his morality in such glaring ways that he felt unfit to be Guard-Captain at all if this was what it entailed. His duty was to protect the people and yet here he was, harassing and brutalising them. 

 

This, Fenris realised with sobering clarity, was wrong. No matter the reasons Meredith excused her actions with- religious ones or anti-mage ones- this was immovably wrong. This was not Justice. 

 

\---

 

Word of Meredith’s wrath spread fast and despite Leandra’s fearful threats, Hawke could not stand by and let her people be persecuted on her behalf. They had a limited, and closing, window of time to pull of the theft as it was and with the need to stand up and do something in response to Meredith’s actions, Hawke left the city. Varric, Merrill and Carver refused to let her go alone and if all worked out, she would need them to accomplish getting into the chantry to the statues anyway. 

 

“Surely we should be going for the chantry with Meredith out of the city?” Carver hissed to Hawke as they headed out of Kirkwall along the main road that reached all the way to Ostwick.

 

Hawke pulled the cloak around her tighter, feverishly obscuring her face from view. Everything was lost if she was caught now. “Meredith hasn’t gone that far, Bodahn brought word she’s harassing a farm outside of town.” Chip stuck close by her side, warily huffing at any who got too close.

 

“A farm? Why a farm?” Carver scrunched his nose in derision. “What would they know of where you are?”

 

“I think Meredith might be getting desperate.” Merrill murmured softly from beneath her own heavy cloak. 

  
Varric squeezed her hand gently in comfort. “I think you might be right, Daisy.”

 

“Either way I can’t just let her do this.” Hawke said briskly, breezing passed the severity of what her words entailed as they neared the beaten old windmill of the farm Meredith’s templars stood before. She saw Fenris there, as stoic and intense as she remembered, but it hurt to see him simply capitulating to Meredith’s commands. 

 

“Sister, what are you talking about?” Carver grabbed her arm and drew her to a halt, but they’d already neared the group of terrified onlookers from the city and Hawke didn’t dare speak now. There were whispers in the crowd of Meredith’s apparently loosened sanity and Hawke had to agree. She wouldn’t have said Meredith was the most reasonable person before all of this, but her newfound depths of desperation were frightening- and all in the name of finding Hawke. Hawke didn’t want to speculate her fate if Meredith did catch her.

 

Meredith stood in the doorway of the farmhouse, obscuring the family inside from view, but the eerie stillness allowed her voice to carry. She held out a hand to the farmer knelt pleading before her, a thin twine of necklace with a carefully shaped silver mabari charm hanging from it swung like damnation before the farmer. “A Fereldan good luck charm was found in your possession, what do you say in your defence?” Meredith had all the glee of an executioner and Fenris felt himself shaking with the need to intervene. His own fear and hatred of mages bade him to stay silent, it told him that this was what had to be done, but these people were not mages. 

 

“We have shelter and food aplenty, and many is the weary traveller welcome at our table-” The farmer choked in his fear, gripping the tabard of her armour as he pleaded, “Have mercy, my lady, my family and I have only ever striven to give kindness as the Maker shows us.”

 

Meredith pulled free of the grovelling man’s grasp. “I hereby place you under house arrest until this matter can be resolved. If indeed you have not aided maleficar to enter the city and are found innocent, then you have nothing to fear.” Meredith whirled around to leave and the man crawled after her, desperately scrambling onto his feet.

 

“We are innocent, ma’am, I assure you! We know nothing of any apostates!”

 

Fenris followed Meredith from the entryway of the house, tensing as she seize the farmer’s shoulder to throw him back into the house when he made to follow them out. Reaching to the Knight-Captain beside her, she tore free Cullen’s sword from its sheath, jamming it through the handle and into the frame of the door- sealing the farmer and his family inside.

 

She turned to snarl at Fenris, “Burn it.”

 

Fenris went rigid. “What?!”

 

“They have been consorting with refugees we know are hiding at least one apostate in their midst, they must be made an example of.” Meredith mounted her horse and took Alrik’s torch from his hand. 

 

Fenris took the torch she proffered to him if only so she would not wave it so dangerously in his face, but he squared up to her defiantly. “I was not made Guard-Captain to murder innocent citizens, ma’am.” He replied tightly, jaw clenched as he stared up at her upon her horse.

 

“You were made Guard-Captain to follow orders.” Meredith bit back.

 

There was a madness in her gaze, something not at all like the holiness of one chosen to be the Maker’s strength or the stern hand of law Fenris had thought Meredith to be. She was crazed in her pursuit and Fenris would not- could not- aid in this insanity. He stepped away from her and plunged the torch into a barrel of collected rainwater.

 

“Coward.” She spat, seizing Samson’s torch from his hand and turning her horse, torch raised, to light the rotating sails. 

 

Fenris barely had a moment to hold his breath as the wood caught aflame. Dry and hot as Kirkwall was, the timber frame spread the fire to the thatched roof so hungrily it all but engulfed the building. The templars and guardsmen reared back from the blaze, the small crowd from the surrounding farms and the city gasping and crying out in horror. 

 

Hawke lurched forward only for Carver to hold her back. “What are you doing?!”

 

“She’s doing this because of me! I-I can’t let them just die!” Hawke fought her brother’s hold but Carver’s arms were tight around her waist. Chip looked anxiously between the siblings but did not intervene.

  
“You did not do this, sister! I will not let her take you!” Carver dragged her back a few paces, letting Varric and Merrill aid him in restraining her distressed struggling.

 

In seconds the heaving windmill began to buckle and groan, Fenris lunging away from the door in time to narrowly avoid a falling beam. As he struggled to his feet he heard screaming. More screaming than that of those around him; screaming from within the house. There was a child, shrieking and terrified, and the parent’s cries for help, and Fenris could not let them die. He had refused to torch the farmhouse but he had not been quick enough to stop Meredith from doing it. 

 

Without though he dove through the fire and into the farmhouse through the window, arms braced for impact as the glass shattered over him. Hawke clasped her hands over her mouth as she watched Fenris barrel into the building, going still in her brother’s hold as there was no movement from the burning building. The broken beam, still burning, blocked the door and beyond the crackling fire Hawke could see the door heaving and warping. There was a thud against it and then Fenris was emerging. In his unaccustomed arms he held a toddler and a baby, one to each arm, the young boy clinging so tightly around Fenris’ neck he looked to be choking him. Fenris only grimaced as he stormed from the building with the farmer and his wife at Fenris’ back. No sooner had they cleared the building than the rest of the windmill tower crashed down upon the farmhouse. A moment more and the family, with Fenris as well, would have been crushed inside the building. 

 

Dazed and soot covered, Fenris stood clutching the children as he stared at the blazing ruin of the building. He was addled as the farmer and his wife crowded him, taking the children from his frozen arms and thanking him. They were sobbing with relief, cradling their children close to their chests as Fenris watched them. He could not quite believe what he had done, defying Meredith’s orders like that.

 

Behind him, and too fast for anyone to call out, Hawke watched Alrik strike Fenris across the back of his head with the pommel of Alrik’s sword. Fenris grunted and fell to his face in the dirt, wrestling the hands that grabbed him to haul him to his knees before Meredith. 

 

“Insubordination as has damning as desertion, Guard-Captain. The punishment for which is death.” Her cold, disdainful face peered down at him as though he were nothing to her. As though her righteousness granted her immunity from morality and judgement. “Such a pity for you to throw away the protection this career might have afforded you from your master, slave.”

 

Fenris bristled, “I am no slave.” He growled up at her, “Consider this my resignation.” Brought to kneel before her as he had been forced to, he refused to be cowed by her. The blade of Alrik’s sword rested on Fenris’ neck and he felt fear of it, fear of death. But better to die free and honourable than to be alive and drowning with guilt under someone else’s command. He had no fear of the Maker when he knew he had done what was right. 

 

Hawke broke free of Carver’s hold enough to throw out her hand. A burst of force magic flew from her fingers and struck Meredith’s horse on it’s flank. The horse reared and threw Meredith from her saddle, the chaos allowing Fenris to break free of the templars pinning him. His brands flared and in three turns he had floored the two templars who had held him down. In a burst of lyrium light Fenris stood before Alrik and pulled back his arm to punch the man square on his nose. A satisfying crunch sounded as the man’s nose crumpled under Fenris’ gauntlet and sent the man to the ground with his brothers in arms. 

 

“Pavali!” Fenris shouted, the horse leaping to his command and hurtling towards him. He snagged her reins and vaulted onto the horse’s back. The bridge back to Kirkwall over the wide, river that ran into the sea was straight and flat. There was no cover as he dug his heels into Pavali’s sides and urged her to run as fast as she could. Maker preserve them, but he prayed they would make it to the city.

 

Meredith’s fury had focus now and she bade her templars to take up their bows, demanding, “Stop him!” With all the might of a woman who would be obeyed. Her authority knew no challenge and she would mete out her own justice when she was dared to be questioned.

 

An arrow flew passed Fenris’ ear, skittering to the cobbled bridge at Pavali’s hooves as the horse whinnied in distress.

 

“Hurry, Pavali.” Fenris breathed into her neck, hunkered as low as he could get in her saddle and fingers twining in her mane even as he clung to the reins. He trusted her to get them across the bridge, but it was the aim of Meredith’s templars he was not so certain they could evade.

 

In a breath the arrows began to fall in dozens. With nowhere to dodge or make cover from, Fenris grit his teeth and hoped they might make it. His tensed body arched as he felt and arrow hit its mark and sink into his back. Pavali tossed her head as she felt his grip go slack but there was nothing the horse could do as Fenris slid from the saddle and tumbled over the side of the bridge and into the river.

 

As the templars and guards raced to the bridge edge to fire down more arrows into the water, Hawke and her companions slipped down the side of the bridge to follow the bank down to the river. Varric gripped Hawke’s arm to halt her leaving the relative safety of the bridge’s shadow.

 

Meredith called a halt to the arrows. “Hold! Let the Maker guide him to rot in a watery grave.” Hawke looked up to where the Knight-Commander’s voice filtered down, distant but audible. “FInd that wretched mage, I don’t care if all of Kirkwall must be razed to the ground; find her!”

 

Hawke clasped a hand over her mouth at that, the guilt choking her as Varric’s hand slid down her arm to hold her hand in solidarity. The windmill was only the beginning. More and more would suffer for her insolence the longer she evaded Meredith’s capture. They waited for Meredith and her templars to return across the bridge and make for Kirkwall once more, allowing them to make it to the river edge unaccosted. 

 

They broke apart to scour the water, Hawke fearlessly wading in up to her thighs as Carver called out to her to be careful. Chip dove in with her but was more splashing around in confused excitement than being helpful in finding the elf. Across the other side of the river, Fenris’ horse had journeyed down to them. She splashed her hooves anxiously in the water as Hawke dove beneath the river’s surface, Merrill calling her name in alarm.

 

She surfaced a moment later, the heavily armoured elf in her grasp. She could barely lift him but as Hawke rose Carver dove in to help her. Between them they managed to get Fenris across to where Pavali was furiously stamping her feet, warily staring down a nervous looking Chip who didn’t know what to do with the horse. Varric and Merrill, with vary degrees of enthusiasm, crossed the river to help. Carver and Hawke set about stripping the man’s armour, uselessly waterlogged as it was it would only weigh them down. They stood a better chance of getting Fenris anywhere if he wasn’t wearing Guard armour. Stripped down to his undershirt and leggings they inspected the wound. 

 

“Shit, Hawke that’s pretty deep.” Varric shook his head. “Unless you and Daisy are gonna surprise us by being damn good healers, we have a problem.” 

 

“Carver, get him onto the horse.”

 

“What? Where are we taking him?”

 

Hawke helped steady Fenris as Carver settled the elf on his belly in the saddle. “I might not be a healer, but I do know one.” 

 

“Wait, do you mean- Marian, come on!” Carver wanted to shake his sister sometimes.

 

“Maybe he’ll smile a bit if we help him,” Merrill suggested brightly.

 

Varric snorted, “He doesn’t seem the type. He’s what we writers call ‘dark and brooding’.”

 

“We need to get into the chantry anyway!” She snapped back.

 

Varric pointed at the unconscious, bleeding out elf. “Not with a dead elf we don’t!”

 

“He’s not dead! And he won’t be if we get moving!”

 

Carver groaned, but he snagged the horse’s reins to lead her. “This is insane.”

 

“Hawke’s plans usually are, Junior.” Varric agreed. It still looked like Hawke was determined to do the right thing, sane or not, and none of them were willing to let her go it alone.

 

\---

 

The stench of smoke clogged the air and filled Meredith’s lungs with every breath. It tasted like benediction on her tongue, the screams and protests only fools crying out in fear of what they couldn’t hope to comprehend. For thirty years she had kept Kirkwall mage-free but for Orsino and Anders, so tightly under her thumb as the examples of what an obedient mage could hope to be, and then Hawke turned up. 

 

With her temptations and her disrespect, the very embodiment of what Meredith had sworn to protect Kirkwall from. Houses in Lowtown were burning yet every returning templar told her the same thing; “The apostate is nowhere to be found.”

 

“How?!” She raged, her hands clenched in fury as she thought hard over everything she had done. “How has she escaped me?!”

 

The chantry was a towering and impressive building but it only had so many doors and windows with which to escape through. She had posted templars and guards at every single one, around the clock, the entire chantry had been surrounded. There had been no way she could have slipped by the templars or guards through any of them. Unless…

 

Meredith’s gaze drifted up to the chantry towers, visible anywhere in Kirkwall, and her eyes narrowed. Hawke had to have had help.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders realised in a sudden moment of painful clarity that it was not Fenris he envied.

Anders was ringing the evening bells overhead as Aveline, Isabela and Sebastian craned their heads over the balcony to peer down at the burning city. The smoke lay like a blanket of black ash over all of Kirkwall and it hurt Aveline to see the city she had once sworn to protect now so helpless and in need, but there was nothing she could do. 

 

“This doesn’t look good,” Isabela remarked wryly, sighing heavily as another bout of shouting and screaming reached them from a distant corner of the city. Even two of the mansions in Hightown had been torched. There was nowhere Meredith left untouched. 

 

“That is an understatement.” Aveline folded her arms as she watched.

 

Sebastian rubbed his stone chin, frowning in concern. “This doesn’t look good for Hawke. Fenris is late for his lesson, the city is burning and people are suffering, it’s only logical to assume that perhaps something has happened to-”

 

Aveline turned sternly to Sebastian. “Don’t say it. And don’t say a word to Anders, he’s worried enough as it is about the pair of them.”

 

Isabela nodded in agreement. “You’re right, let’s not talk about how Hawke or Fenris could be anywhere, dead or dying, in Meredith’s damned dungeon for all we know.”

 

“I hope not.” Anders said, resting a hand on Isabela’s shoulder as he stood beside her. 

 

Aveline knocked her shoulder with a thunk of stone on stone. “Good job.”

 

Anders shook his head at the taller woman. “Isabela’s right. We don’t know anything up here, they could be in need of our help and we can’t do anything. What are we going to do?” 

 

“You say that like we can ‘do’ anything.” Sebastian reminded the mage forlornly. He missed his freedom as much as the other two. Oh what he wouldn’t give for his bow to show Meredith what he thought of her. 

 

“Oh, listen to you three- you’re exhausting! We might not know where Hawke and Fenris are but come on, you’ve seen them both! Tell me Hawke isn’t three steps ahead of Meredith and perfectly out of harm’s way.” Isabela marched away from them all and towards some of Anders’ shelves of plants. She ran her fingers over a few leaves with a shrug. “And that elf, Maker…” She shivered and smirked. “Fenris seems like a guy who can handle himself just fine.”

 

Anders followed after Isabela with evident need to be reassured. “You think so?”

 

The pirate hopped onto the table. “Of course! When this all blows over- which it will- Hawke will be back.” 

 

“It’s been so long, what makes you think she’d come back to see me?” Anders hated how hopeful he sounded but, with Fenris uncharacteristically late and Hawke so long gone now, he was starting to feel as though the world had forgotten him.

 

Sebastian offered a gentle smile to their charge. “Because she seemed quite fond of you.”

 

“I-I don’t think-” Anders shook his head but his guardians were having none of it.

 

“Knight’s in shining armour don’t seem her type.” Aveline pointed out.

 

Isabela smirked. “Even Big Girl agrees! And trust me, those knight types are a dime a dozen, but you? You’re one of a kind, Anders.”

 

Anders scoffed and turned away from them, tangling his fingers in his loose hair and shaking his head at their antics. “Right, yeah, sure.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s gonna pass up Fenris for… this.”

 

Aveline’s attention snapped to him like a physical strike, her hand reaching out to tip up his face. “‘This’ is far more remarkable than you give yourself credit for.”

 

“But-”

 

“Don’t speak one more word if it is to contradict me, Anders.” She said it so mildly but Anders’ jaw clacked shut obediently in fear of challenging that gentle firmness. 

 

Sebastian leaned in, a gentler hand where Aveline’s had halted Anders’ self-depreciating ranting so that they might get him to see himself anew. “You reach out to Fenris, Anders. An elf that hates mages, and you have him coming to you for reading and writing lessons- yesterday you managed to make him laugh.” Sebastian cocked his head in reluctant admittance. “Well… I think it was a laugh, as much of one as Fenris seems to give.”

 

“Forget that! Our Anders here is a mage, a damn good one, possessed or not you haven’t given in to your demon, spirit, thing, whatever. You’re kind and nice and so sweet I want to eat you up sometimes. You grew out of your gangly phase very nicely and if you weren’t in this tower and I wasn’t made of stone-”

 

Aveline growled, “Beware how you finish that sentence…”

 

“-I would be delighted to take you to your first brothel. How dare you, Man-hands. I changed this boy’s nappies.” Isabela stuck her tongue out impishly at Aveline, the two about ready to really start shouting when a voice called from the lower stairs of the tower.

 

“Anders?”

 

Anders felt his heart leap from his chest to his stomach, an excitedly buzzing lump he had to swallow around to speak. “H-Hawke?!”

 

“Anders!” Hawke’s face lit up when she saw him at the top of the stairs, Anders leaping down them in huge strides to sweep her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his neck, drawn to the tips of her toes as he pulled her close, her ever faithful mabari bounding around them joyously.

 

“Hawke, you’re alright! I knew you would be of course, but Maker it’s so good to see you! I had hoped you would come back.” Anders didn’t want to let go as Hawke pulled away but her hands found his and he clasped them warmly, letting her cold palms leech his warmth in comfort. She was as beautiful as he had half thought he imagined, her smile tired and worn but so bright. Justice grumbled that she had no lyrium to sing to him with but Anders ignored the demon.

 

**Spirit. I am a spirit.**

 

_ Shush, Hawke is here! _

 

“Anders, I’m so glad to see you. You’ve done so much for me already, my friend, but I have to beg your help one more time.” Her hands squeezed his and Anders had already agreed before she had finished speaking.

 

“Anything.” 

 

His dazed smile fell as Hawke drew back to the door and admitted four others. The dwarf, Varric, Anders recognised from the festival, but the other human and female elf were unknown to Anders entirely. The elf they carried, however, was very much known to him.

 

“Fenris!” Anders gasped, the ashened face and inability to stand unaided so unlike the proud elf Anders was used to.

 

“You know him?” Varric asked in surprise.

 

Anders nodded. There was no way to explain their precarious acquaintance, because friendship didn’t fit what they had, but Anders knew Fenris well enough to worry about him. “What happened?”

 

“Meredith.” The male human grunted. 

 

Hawke inclined her head to Anders, “This is my brother, Carver, and this is Merrill.” She indicated the elf with dalish tattoos who smiled brightly at Anders. “Varric, whom you know. They’re my friends.” Varric still nodded anyway, preoccupied with hefting a large saddle bag after Carver as Carver brought the wounded elf further into the tower. “Fenris took an arrow to the back from Meredith’s templars, he’s being hunted by them and there’s no one I know who’s a better healer than you. I knew he’d be safe here, please, Anders…can you hide him here? Will you heal him?”

 

Anders nodded dumbly, leading the rag-tag group to pile up his stairs. The only place to put Fenris was Anders bed so the healer didn’t hesitate before directing Carver to place Fenris there. Anders began gathering the things he needed from his shelves, raiding the next days potions and willing his hands to stop shaking. Fenris was a warrior, of course he had gotten hurt. It couldn’t have been the first time and Anders knew what he was doing in theory. He could do this. He tried not to mind Varric, Merrill and Carver curiously poking about his living area but with Fenris bleeding onto his pathetic excuse for a bed he had bigger things to be concerned with.

 

Hawke knelt at the other side of Fenris from where Anders had settled himself, Chip making himself cosy at the foot of the straw mattress. Either the arrow had gone clean through or it had gone too deep and they’d had no choice but to push it the rest of the way through because Anders had an entry and an exit wound. 

 

“Hawke…” Fenris groaned, his eyes fluttering open as he struggled to sit up. Anders pinned him gently with one hand as Hawke shushed him, bidding him to lie still.

 

“Ssh, Fenris. You’re safe here. Don’t move.” Hawke smiled with an assurance she clearly didn’t feel as she looked pleadingly to Anders. 

 

Anders uncorked the bottle of wine Meredith had left behind on her last visit, cursing it was all he had to cleanse the wound as he poured it over the front, and worst, wound. Fenris lurched and spasmed at the pain but did not make a sound- that was somehow more disturbing than if he had screamed. 

 

“Not my preferred use for a bottle of wine.” Fenris grunted.

 

Anders snorted, “In my experience, chantry wine isn’t the kind to be savoured.”

 

Fenris grunted wordlessly this time, his head spinning with pain as Anders raised his hand and Fenris felt the pull of the fade. “No magic.” He bit out.

 

“But-”

 

“No. Magic.” Fenris paused for a moment. “Please,” He added.

 

Anders sighed and muttered something unpleasant under his breath but otherwise obliged. “Stitches it is then. You might want to distract him.” Anders spoke to Hawke this time.

 

Hawke gave Fenris a slightly awed look as she began to speak. “That family owes you their lives.” She said, and Anders kept half his attention on her words out of curiosity. He had to know what Fenris had done to turn on Meredith and why. “You’re either the craziest guardsman I’ve ever met, or the bravest.”

 

“Ex-guardsman.” Fenris corrected with a grunt as Anders fed the needle through the torn edges of his wound. “Whenever I encounter either of you, one of us ends up bleeding.”

 

Though the comment seemed to include Anders, he kept silent as Hawke laughed. Fenris’ blood was staining his fingers and Anders didn’t much feel like laughing at that. “Make jokes all you want. That arrow almost pierced your heart.” Hawke’s smile shrank a little and her hand lay to rest on Fenris’ chest. Anders’ gaze snapped to it like it burned him without even touching him, the image of her hand resting on the slow rise and fall of Fenris’ chest. “I am very glad it didn’t.”

 

Anders was frozen, the stitches tied off and the needle free in his hand. He should leave. He was intruding, he could stitch the other side of Fenris’ wound once the two had finished whatever this was. His stomach clenched fitfully as Fenris’ hand rested over Hawke’s in such an uncertain move, the elf’s brows pinched in confusion as he gazed at Hawke. “Oh?” The elf asks curiously, looking at her like he can’t quite understand her but he’d very much like to try. Anders soundlessly moved back, standing and leaving the sleeping area as Hawke met Fenris’ gaze with her own intrigued look. 

 

Anders reached out to steady himself on the beam behind him. His heart felt as though it were being torn from his chest, painful heartache sharper than any longing he had nurtured rending him frozen and weak. Hawke leaned down and Fenris met her, their mouths pressing together in a sudden kiss, and Anders realised in a sudden moment of painful clarity that it was not Fenris he envied. He turned away as the pain filled his eyes and Anders couldn’t bear it, looking back again as if he could have imagined it all but there they were; yet Anders would have given anything to have been the one kissing Fenris. 

 

All those arguments and difficult lessons, battling his own sarcasm with the elf’s dry wit, sitting side by side as the days had passed, all the while he had grown to think of the elf in a gentler way than he had Hawke. Hawke had burst into his life like a storm, but Fenris… Fenris had been as gentle as the Maker’s light in a sunrise, seeping into Anders so slowly he hadn’t known it until he had seen Fenris claimed by another.

 

Hiding himself behind the beam he pressed his face into his hands to muffle any sob he couldn’t stifle. Why had his guardians encouraged this? For him to dare to hope either of them might love him like that had only resulted in so much pain it made him feel sick. This was what they had wanted for him? The hope had not been worth this. Maker damn every single one of them, for the first time with utter sincerity Anders wished he had never left his tower. He wished he had never met Hawke or Fenris or any of them, this pain was unbearable. 

 

Out of Anders’ earshot Hawke and Fenris broke apart with bemused expressions. 

 

“I… I am unsure as to why you did that,” Fenris admitted.

 

Hawke shook her head. “You kissed me back, too. I just… it felt like the right thing to do?”

 

Fenris hummed, distracted by the feeling of her hand under his. Her skin was cold from outside but warming, her smile slightly crooked as she began to fidget under his calculating look. That he could look at her mouth and know the taste of it was making his already addled mind even more heavy. Thoughts and feelings he couldn’t unpick were a tangled web in his mind but slipping under cotton fog until his eyes closed and his grip went slack. 

 

Hawke smiled at the sleeping elf before slipping from the room. Anders passed her with his face downturned, a rag and a potion in his hands, but Hawke let the man work in peace. She had three statues to chat with.

 

It was easier to patch Fenris up when Anders wasn’t having to watch him kiss Hawke. The stitches to Fenris’ back were finished and wrapped in soft bandages with methodical practise. It was as though Anders had done it before, but really it was easier to think on his fingers deftly unwinding the bandaged then on the image seared into his mind. It hurt, he noted. It still hurted. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t as though Anders could rightly claim either of them, nor would even doing so cause any of them anything but pain, but… he had hoped. He had daydreamed and imagined, he had conjured foolish things in quiet moments and all the while he had assured himself he didn’t really want that. He didn’t really hope for it. With Hawke or Fenris, the imaginings were harmless, surely?

 

Laying Fenris back gently onto the straw stuffed, poorly sewn blanket Anders considered the ache in his chest as entirely harmful. It was his professional and medical recommendation to himself to never do this again.

 

He stilled for a moment as he lifted Fenris’ head forward so Anders could carefully pour a potion down the elf’s throat. Fenris’ lower lip was pressed down ever so slightly to let the red liquid passed and Anders wondered what they would feel like. Would Fenris press back as immediately as he had with Hawke? Gritting his teeth against that stabbing ache Anders cursed himself. He had only just sworn never again and here he was fantasizing over Fenris’ mouth.

 

_ Well? Why aren’t you scolding me as well? _

 

**I find nothing worth chastising you over in the hurt you feel right now.** Justice said reproachfully.

 

Everything Anders had been taught about demons told him that they waited for a weakness and then struck. At no point during any of Meredith’s punishments, his isolation or his loneliness, had Justice vied for power. Now, foolishly hurting, and Justice simply offered comforting silence. 

 

_ You really are a spirit, aren’t you? _

 

**Yes.** Justice didn’t sound exasperated and it distracted Anders to think of that apparently suffering patience rather than the elf he tucked in to rest. 

 

_ I could heal him in a minute and have them all gone from my life forever. _ Anders was fairly certain that once Fenris was healed, Hawke and he would disappear for good. He almost wanted it, but was this pain worse than truly being alone again?

 

Justice huffed in irritation, because of course Anders was never truly alone.  **You promised him; no magic.**

 

Never let it be said Anders wasn’t a mage of his word, what little a mage’s word meant, so Anders left the room on gentle steps so as not to disturb his uninvited patient. He went to the main area of his tower living area and found an argument had broken out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith visits Anders. Warnings for mentions of past abuse and current abuse.

Hawke was trying to shake the immovable form of Isabela’s statue, still as stone was supposed to be no matter how the mage pleaded. “I swear, Varric, they are alive!”

 

“They don’t look all that alive to me, Hawke.” The dwarf shook his head with a wince as Carver glared at his sister.

 

“Are you telling me we came all this way only for this fool’s errand to be total bullshit?”

 

Hawke was about to snap back at her brother when she saw Anders wiping off his bloodied fingers on a rag, watching them with quiet curiosity. “Anders!” The delighted way she greeted him, stripe of red across her nose crinkling with her smile, tugged still at his heart. He wanted to push her away and be done with all of this but he knew it wasn’t a deep want, not as deep as the want to have her still be his friend. “Please tell them the statues are alive!”

 

Betrayal slams into him like the time he had misjudged the length of rope down from the bells and hit the floor far too hard. “You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

 

“I-I… yes, I did. Um. Well…” She had the decency to look shamefaced at that before taking a breath. “Well, turns out the artifacts I’ve been looking for are your guardians, and well… Merrill here? She thinks she can undo the magic done to them?”

 

“What?” Anders asked at the same time as Isabela, the pirate unfreezing from her still form at the news.

 

“Isabela!” Sebastian scolded, but he was eying the dalish witch with blatant hope.

 

Aveline groaned, unfreezing with a slow, seething sigh. “What in the Maker’s name is even the point of us keeping ourselves a secret when you two just reveal it all the time?!”

 

“Hawke already saw us, big girl, what’s the big deal?” Isabela winked at Hawke, clasping her hands together in excitement. “And who bloody cares if we get un-magicked?!”

 

Carver gripped Hawke’s elbow tight. “Sister, the statues are talking.”

 

“Told you!” 

 

Anders held his arms out haltingly as bickering broke out between Isabela and Aveline, and Hawke and Carver. “Wait, wait! What do you mean you can reverse this?” He pointed at the three statues. “What was done to them was done by blood magic, to undo it you’d have to be…” Anders’ eyes landed on the wide eyed elf rocking on the balls of her feet. “...be a…” Merrill ducked her a head a little and offered him a sheepish smile as Anders’ jaw dropped.”...a blood mage.” 

 

The dalish elf offered a warm smile, “Then it’s probably a good thing I am.” 

 

Everything Anders had ever been told about blood mages was that they were as good as abominations, only one step from it as they were with their consorting with demons as it was. Blood magic was not a necessity for possession, as Anders himself was very much not a blood mage, but it dangled that temptations Meredith had told him all mages would fall prey to: more power. A demon could offer more magic, more ability, more wealth, more love- anything at all, anything for the mage to give in and trade their body to the demon. Justice had assured him Anders had made no such deals with demons, but he must have to be possessed. Here Merrill was, as gentle and sweet as Anders had first seen her, but admitting she made deals with demons and spilled blood for power. 

 

“W-what…! Y-you’re a-!” Anders’ eyes widened in horror as he backed away. “Hawke, you brought a blood mage to the chantry- to my home?!”

 

Hawke groaned and in one stark moment, Anders saw everything different between them. Before she opened her mouth, he knew what she was going to say, “Merrill is a good person, Anders, she’s no more ‘just a blood mage’ than you are ‘just an abomination’. She’s the perfect person to undo what was done to these three.” And Hawke believed it. Hawke saw the person, not the label. She had looked past his being an abomination and saw the frightened man he was, and she did the same with Merrill. Anders couldn’t say he could do the same, and certainly not with blood magic, but Hawke’s ability to do so was admirable.

 

Sebastian had recoiled in surprise from where he had been openly smiling at the dalish elf, a wary look cast to the other two statues. “I don’t know about this…”

 

Isabela, however, was more than keen. “Oh, I do! I am ready to not be made of stone again, please!” She pointed a falsely jovial finger at Hawke in accusation, “But you’ve yet to tell us why you want to do this, or what your price is.”

 

“Oh, I like you,” Hawke all but purred. “Not one to accept I’m doing this out of the goodness of my own heart?” At Isabela’s wry look Hawke chuckled. “Fair enough, though in a sense- I am. About three weeks after arriving here it became pretty obvious that there was no way my family or any others of the refugees would be helped here. So I set about trying to change that. But no one would employ me, mostly because the city guardsmen and the templars were rounding the Fereldans up to be harassed for protecting apostates. Which we were and are, because go figure mages aren’t considered people here,” At this point Hawke had started to pace, the frustration of her words in her every movement as well. “So the problem was obvious- Meredith. Cruel, heartless, cold, Meredith. Corrupt leaders get overthrown all the time, right? You just have to find their weakness!”

 

Aveline crossed her arms and looked to Sebastian for sane commiseration. “Is anyone else terrified at how calmly Hawke seems to regard sedition as an viable way to achieve her goals?”

 

Varric shrugged, “Only if it seemed like that sedition wasn’t going to work in pretty much everyone’s favour.”

 

“Except Meredith’s.” Sebastian corrected.

 

“Do we care?” Hawke cried out incredulously. “Look what she’s done to you, to Anders, to this entire city!” She flung her arm to gesture beyond the balcony not far from the loft space at the sky still choked with smog and ash from the burning city. “Can you honestly say tearing her down wouldn’t better this city?”

 

Anders shook his head vehemently, “But the mages… Hawke, she’s protecting the people from mages- mages like me and Merrill!”

 

“Leave Daisy out of this.” The dwarf groused, suddenly sharp in the place of his amiability. 

 

Anders waved a hand at Varric dismissively, “She’s a blood mage- she’s dangerous! Just like I’m a dangerous abomination!”

 

“And I’m a dangerous apostate?!” Hawke snapped back.

 

“No!” Anders tugged at his hair in confusion. “I m-mean, yes? No!” He groaned, “This isn’t making any sense!”

 

Anders’ breathing became shallow but staccato fast, sucked in through his teeth as his panic increased. Before anyone could move his guardians had taken their places, Aveline and Isabela a wall between him and the people in his home- his safe place- and Sebastian had gently taken Anders hands to draw them away from his face, holding them loosely in his own.

 

“Breathe with me, Anders.” Sebastian voice gave Anders something to focus on and he did so with frightened need, following as Sebastian breathed with him and guided him when to exhale. There was a silence in the tower as Anders got his breathing back under control when finally Isabela spoke.

 

“Remember what I said, Anders? Meredith is wrong.”

 

Sebastian turned to glare at Isabela, “Leave him, let him just breathe.”

 

Chastised, the pirate obliged and turned instead to Hawke. “Fine, Hawke- what about us makes you think we can overthrow Meredith?”

 

Hawke had been watching Anders carefully and spoke softer in light of his panic. “Someone spread a rumour about their being artifacts in the chantry that could expose her cruelty with proof. So we did some digging- and I met Merrill who explained that blood magic can do all sorts of things to people- and we talked with this creepy Antiquarian, send some letters to some of Varric’s family in Tevinter and all it got us was this big fat nothing! Then I got a letter, or rather Varric did, telling me the artifacts are statues. So, I’ve been led to believe you know something that can help me prove she shouldn’t be Knight-Commander... “ Hawke paused uncertainly. “Do you?”

 

“Yes.” Aveline answered without hesitation.

 

Hawke sagged with relief. “Oh thank the Maker, what is it?”

 

“Here’s the catch, sweet thing…” Isabela sighed, “Part of the whole blood magic thing is we can’t talk about it, not while we’re like this.” She gestured to her carved stone body.

 

“All the more reason for me to undo the magic, then.” Merrill pointed out.

 

“You would trust a blood mage?” Sebastian asked of Isabela incredulously, ignoring how Merrill shot him a narrow eyed look.

 

Isabela scoffed. “Blood magic got us into this mess, thirty years ago mind you, how exactly did you think we were going to be getting out of it? Anders is a spirit healer, that’s as good and holy as healing magic gets and he couldn’t fix this. Blood magic is what gets us out.”

 

Anders reached for Isabela, worry on his conflicted face. He could not simply shrug away years of indoctrinated fact that Meredith had beaten into him, and even if he wanted to he couldn’t bring himself to trust a blood mage. It felt a little hypocritical with his being an abomination and all, but he had done no blood magic to end up this way and Justice seemed to be the spirit he had always professed to be. “W-what if…”

 

Isabela took his hand and rolled a shoulder lazily as she cocked her other hand on her hip, the very picture of laidback lack of concern. “Don’t worry, sparklefingers, we’ll be okay.”

 

It seemed decided, as grim faced as Aveline was about the whole thing she still wasn’t protesting and Sebastian was eager enough to be rid of his stone body that he stepped alongside the other two guardians. Merrill moved towards them, a dagger raised over her other palm when suddenly Chip leaped up in alarm. His hackles raised and he began growling, sniffing and whuffing towards the balcony edge. Anders and Hawke stared at each other in horror, racing to the balcony edge to confirm their fears.

 

“Meredith!” Anders hissed. “You must leave, quickly!” He did not hesitate, waving his hands hurriedly at the others to follow him. His mind was racing, if she was approaching from the north entrance than he knew the fastest way out- that wasn’t trying to scale the chantry again but this time with a hulking warrior, a blood mage and a dwarf. “Go down the south tower, take the steps all the way to the bottom but move quickly- you should miss any of the sisters as they’ll still be taking evening confessions.” Anders flung open the door, pointing the way for them as Carver passed him without a word. Merrill offered him a sweet smile, Varric a congenial nod, then Hawke caught his arm and made him meet her gaze.

 

“Be careful, my friend.” She said, as sincerely as she always was in her words to him- as though he was worth the care taken to say them. “Promise you won’t let anything happen to Fenris?”

 

As if Anders could, the way his heart still ached at the sight of them both kissing and how it had become so blindingly obvious his admiration for Hawke couldn’t shake the way Fenris had crept into his thoughts and heart. Anders closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sighing on the exhale as he spoke, “I promise.” Justice would force him to keep that oath, whether he approved of Anders’ infatuation or not. Anders would not need the forcing, however. Hurt as he was it did not erase how he felt, simply changed the weight of it from a warm glow to a sharp knife in his chest.

 

“Thank you.” Hawke smiled, squeezing his hands before disappearing the way Anders had directed them to go, Chip at her heels on swift paws.

 

Isabela whistled low at the sight of Hawke’s retreating rear, “As nice as the view is,” She rapped her knuckles on the stairs she stood atop to get Anders’ attention below, “We really gotta stash that corpse you have in your bed.”

 

“He’s not dead,” Anders hissed as he passed by her up the stairs.

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong but you’ve never healed someone else, and even when you healed yourself without magic you were never near death.” 

 

Aveline glared at Isabela as she moved to help Anders struggling with even lifting Fenris to sit up. “Not helping, whore.”

 

“Maker forbid the day I ever be accused of being helpful, man-hands.” Isabela returned cheerfully, taking Fenris’ other arm across from Anders, as Aveline took the legs.Sebastian was moving quickly about the loft space but there really was no time. His eyes landed on the table in the centre of the loft, the one with Anders’ map spread across it like a tablecloth. 

 

“Here!” He called, directing them as they shoved and pushed at Fenris until he was curled into a fetal position under the table. 

 

Isabela remarked drily, “I am sure all this moving him is doing wonders for the internal bleeding.”

 

“Shut up and hide!” Sebastian snapped, he, Aveline and Isabela slipping away onto the balcony as Anders frantically piled his books and vials into more of an order than the chaos he had left them in when he had snatched them up to aid Fenris.

 

Meredith rose from the stairs into the loft area, basket of food in hand, as though she had not missed every regular visit the past month or so. Her smile, closed lipped as it was, spoke of teeth behind it as he turned to see her, immediately averting his gaze.

 

“M-Mistress, I-I didn’t… I didn’t think you would be c-coming.” Anders made to be tidying, swabbing at the table with his robe cuff and bowing in deference to her. 

 

She had not been to see him since his transgression of leaving the Chantry and Anders expected a whip to his back, not the basket she placed on the table. “Busy as I am, I have made time to see you, boy. I have even brought you a gift.”

 

Anders gulped as she sat herself at the table he had been cleaning, the one with Fenris curled beneath it, rather than the other table the customarily sat at. The thought of her being so close to discovering him harbouring the now traitor Guard-Captain made him as ill as the thought of what possible gift she might have for him. Justice rumbled discontentedly at the back of his mind as Anders stared at the basket in quiet alarm.

 

A pointed cough had him nearly leaping from his seat, “O-oh!” He choked, hurrying to his shelves to fetch their plates and cups. A vial fell from his shaking hands as he moved it aside, shattering on the floor at his feet as he reached for the wine she had left- the wine he had used to clean Fenris’ wounds for lack of anything better- before hurrying back to the table. He laid out her plate and goblet before his own wooden set, hands shaking and making each piece clatter and shake before he placed it down. 

 

“Something is trouble you, boy.” She drawled, voice low with false empathy for how he shook before her.

 

“N-no, Mistress.” He shook his head hard, eyes fixed on the grapes she drew from the basket, popping one free from the bunch to slide between her lips with all the languid grace of the executioner's axe lifted before a swing. He felt it in each breath he sucked through his flared nostrils, tensed and ramrod straight in his seat as he prayed to the Maker for him to help.

 

Meredith eyed the second grape before cocking her head slowly, “Oh, but there is. I know there is. Guilt in the eyes of the Maker has a way of making itself known.”

 

While holding his gaze she knocked one of his books to the floor, peering down her nose at him as he bent down to retrieve it. His hands shook as he caught sight of Fenris under the table, face lax in restful sleep, but Meredith so close to her quarry that it made Anders feel sick. He wasn’t sure he could do this, deceiving Meredith was something he’d only ever skirted before- outright lying and smuggling fugitives under her nose was something else entirely.But what was the alternative? Let her drag Fenris from here? Perhaps not even that, maybe she’d execute him right in front of Anders. Maybe execute them both. Anders very much didn’t want Fenris killed and certainly not himself so he forced himself to pick up the book.

 

**This is the right thing to do.**

 

_ How can you be sure? _

 

**I am not. You are. I can feel it in you. You are afraid but it will not stop you. I support that we are doing the right thing by your understanding.**

 

Anders gulped. It stood to reason that Justice, the spirit, could not be all-knowing while trapped in Anders’ head. The spirit could only judge from what Anders learned and felt, and Justice was right- Anders did think this was the right thing to do deep down. The idea of what carrying it out entailed- lying to the woman who had raised him and been the only kindness he had known beyond his guardians- was the part he struggled with. 

 

“You are hiding something.” Meredith drawled, eyes narrowing on Anders.

 

As though the rug had been pulled from under him, Anders paled. “Oh n-no! Mistress, no! I-I would-”

 

“Eat.”

 

Without pausing Anders reached for the grapes to shove a few in his mouth. Anything to please her and keep her favour. He smiled a weak, broken curve of his lips at her around a mouthful of the fruit, popping one more in, one after another, until he could hardly close his mouth at all.

 

Under the table, Fenris groaned. He was stirring in his sleep and Anders hummed loudly to cover it, giving Meredith a wide, crooked smile as if there was no greater delicacy than the grapes he was eating. Buttering her up with his unending gratitude seemed like a good way to earn her favour, but Anders’ heart was pounding at the sound Fenris had made. If he woke, if he kept making noise, Meredith would discover him. Then it would be punishment for them both- death most certainly for Fenris at least- and Anders could not allow it.

 

Again, Fenris groaned, a little louder, and panic seized Anders. He drew back his leg without thought and kicked out to where he knew Fenris’ head was. With a blustering cough Anders swallowed hard around the half chewed grapes, pounding at his chest with one hand as the other gripped the table, Anders prayed Meredith did not realise what had happened.

 

“Enough.” Meredith rose from her seat and braced her hands on the table, towering over Anders imperiously. “You helped that apostate to escape!” Her hand snapped out to seize the front of his robe, hauling him from his seat and then throwing him to the floor. “You lied to me, you abused the sanctuary I gave to you and now,” Meredith rose to her full height over Anders sprawled on the floor, a finger pointed to him in damnation as she cried, “Now all of Kirkwall is burning, because of you!”

 

Anders bowed his head at the sight of Meredith’s rage, fissures of blue breaking over his skin as Justice railed against the threat. It never got further than those eerie blue cracks so the sight of them neither halted nor alarmed Meredith as she sneered down at him.

 

“S-she… she was kind to me, Mistress.”

 

Meredith turned away from Anders in disgust, flinging an arm out to topple the haphazardly piled books and half filled vials on the table to the floor. The glass shattered and crunched under her feet, pages wrinkled and folder, their spines bent and marred on impact. Anders reared back, curling into his knees with his arms raised in surrender as Meredith roared at him. “You fool! ‘Kindness’?! From a mage?!” Her upper lip peeled up, baring her teeth in an animalistic show of rage. “There is no such thing- kindness, compassion, love, they are not things a mage feels or shows, she is a mage, boy, mages are not capable of real love!” In three quick steps she rounded the table to snare her gauntleted hands in his robes again, dragging him onto his knees to snarl in his face. “Your mother know that when she cast you out!”

 

The reminder that even his mother had never wanted him stung, but it was not a new pain. He had often wondered about the woman Meredith had told him had abandoned him, had threw aside her possessed son barely cleaned from birth a few days before Meredith had spared him. 

 

“You need to be reminded.” Meredith said, anger banked for a moment but simmering slowly as she stood back, letting him fall to his hands. “Remove your robe.”

 

“Mistress, please!” He begged.

 

“Now!”

 

Reminding himself it was the only way to ensure Fenris’ safety did nothing to quell Justice’s anger. He took the offered vial Meredith removed from her belt, a slim one he was not permitted to make himself- magebane. It would sever his magic for a while, and keep Justice quiet long enough Meredith need not fear the demon her charge harboured. It was bitter and horribly familiar on his tongue as he swallowed it down, bowing his head as he pulled his robe off over his head. It left him in only his trousers and his boots as he knelt for Meredith. She had brought no whip but Meredith had left a cane years ago, for the eventuality Anders disobeyed unexpectedly so that she would always be ready to correct him. He closed his eyes, flinching as he heard her pick it up.

 

“You have defied me for the last, boy. First you left the chantry, then you aided the apostate to escape, now you lie to me about it…” Meredith sighed, as though the heavy burden of his transgressions hurt her but Anders wasn’t sure hurting Meredith was possible. It required a heart to do so. 

 

Anders grimly opened his eyes and from his meek position knelt on the floor he could see wide green eyes staring at him in horror. Fenris was obscured by the table’s worn cloth, below the thick map, and Meredith could not see him but Anders could. Fenris could see Anders as well, and impressively the elf did not look away as Meredith stepped behind Anders.

 

“You will count.”

 

It did not require an answer so Anders did not give one, holding Fenris gaze as he mimed shushing Fenris. He was afraid Fenris might do something foolish- even in defence of a mage. The first crack had Anders sucking in a breath, pain blossoming with heat where it had landed.

 

“One.”   
  


Fenris grit his teeth but would not look away. It was a sweet kindness, a show of solidarity that Fenris would not leave him to this torture alone. Anders was grateful.

 

He clung to that. Even when he closed his eyes and screamed in agony, Fenris did not look away. Each bow came and Anders counted each one, always knowing he could open his eyes and see Fenris there with him. Anders wanted to be ashamed of being seen so weak and pathetic, tears streaking his face as he broke with each blow, but he had never had anyone to cling to through this before and he would not feel shame for having someone who cared. His heart broke for having lost Fenris to Hawke but it did not mean he could not have them both as friends and in that moment he needed a friend. He was doing this to save his friend, not some Guard-Captain who had wronged his mistress. He was protecting Fenris and that made each blow, each pain, all of it… worth it.

 

At twenty, Meredith stopped. Anders’ shoulders sagged, shaking with each hiccuping sob of pain that wracked his body. He was dizzy from the magebane, dizzier still with the pain, and he fell into Meredith’s arms as she pulled him to her, her armoured hand petting his hair and hushing his cries softly. This, of all of it, was the worst. 

 

The care, the sympathy. This was what Anders would rather Fenris did not see. There was no helping it, however, and Anders clung to Meredith weakly as she held him close. She was as much a mother as he had ever known and there was no changing that.

 

“What I have done, I have done out of love.” She promised him, and for one moment he believed it like all the times he had before. It was sour in his heart, however, and when he looked to how his guardians treated him, how Hawke and Fenris treated him, Anders could not swallow that lie any longer. If she believed it of love, it was not out of love for him but in a twisted way the Maker perhaps. “I will take care of the apostate. She will be out of our lives soon enough. She has entrapped you with her evil magic and I will free you from it.”

 

Anders’ breath was difficult to grasp but he choked in enough to ask, “W-what do y-you mean?”

 

Meredith pulled away from Anders slowly, letting him slip back to the floor as she stood. She had a sickeningly soft smile on her face as she smoothed out the tabard of her armour. “My men have found the right tunnels to take us to their slums in Darktown. Tomorrow at dawn, the entire garrison of the Gallow’s templars will tear it all down.”

 

The mage watched her leave with aghast horror, flinching as the door closed behind Meredith and he felt it like the fall of the executioner’s axe. He flinched again when Fenris, limping and nursing a split lip from Anders’ kicking him, had crawled over to him.

 

“F-Fenris, w-we have to-” Anders choked as moving pulled at his opened back, the sticky feeling of the blood down his back unpleasantly wet as more spilled out. He cried out in pain but Fenris caught him with the arm on the side not nursing an arrow wound. “W-we have to warn H-Hawke!”

 

“You are not going anywhere.” Fenris bit out firmly. His jaw ticked in agitation as Anders tried to protest but ultimately only clung onto Fenris as the elf got him settled onto a stool at the table. “Your magic, she gave you magebane? How long until you can heal yourself?”

 

Anders wanted to point out the miracle of Fenris condoning the use of magic but he was too weak. “Two, maybe three hours.”

 

Fenris nodded to himself at the information, shuffling and favouring his uninjured side as he picked through Anders’ healing supplies. He set down two healing potions in front of Anders.”Drink them.” The order made his face twist in disgust and he awkwardly added, “Please,” As though he wasn’t too familiar with the word like this. “I will bind your back until your magic returns, then you will heal yourself.”

 

Anders sipped slowly from one of the given vials, not even offering an argument at the waste of them on himself but he did speak up at having to wait. “But Hawke-”

 

“She will be fine. We have time. You are of no use to anyone unable to stand.” Fenris grunted when he pulled his arm but was otherwise silent as he wound the bandages around Anders, looping his arms around Anders’ chest to feed the ribbons of cloth in just tight enough folds. Anders remained silent, focused on the soothing tingle of the potion as he swallowed and the warm rasp of Fenris’ roughened fingers when they gingerly grazed his skin. It was more pleasant than thinking on the pain or the blood or the ache in his heart that refused to abate. 

  
When Fenris was done he took Anders by the arm and led him to the pitiful excuse for a bed Anders had. Anders was already slipping into unconsciousness as he laid down, a tight grip on Fenris’ shirt sleeve keeping the elf close. Fenris did not fight the grip and instead settled down on the cot with Anders, letting himself stand guard for the few hours rest Anders needed. There was an anger simmering away in his gut that helping Anders had not banked. He did not think it would be sated until he had seen Meredith bleed for what she had done.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders work together to try and warn Hawke of Meredith's attack, but time is running out.

When Anders woke it was to pain. With each inching, unwilling step to consciousness Anders felt more pain until he was groaning and pressing his face into his pillow as if he could escape it. 

 

His warm pillow.

  
His very sturdy, muscled pillow.

 

That’s a thigh, his brain helpfully supplied as his eyes snapped open and he looked from the hand gently tapping his cheek- thankfully not shaking his shoulder with where the pain was coming from- to the arm, following it up to a face. Fenris’ face. Which made the thigh-

 

“Andraste’s tits, I-I am so sorry.” Anders groaned, wincing as he wriggled away, curling his arms into his chest from where they had been thrown around Fenris’ leg as if the elf’s limb was a teddy bear to soothe himself with.

 

Fenris did not shift away but he was tensed. Anders doubted many people used the elf like a pillow like that, he didn’t seem the cuddling sort. Then, Anders hadn’t thought he was either. He’d never really had the occasion to find out, though, and he did think he was fond of being touched- certainly when Hawke and Fenris did it- so it made sense he had sought the elf out in his sleep. He felt his face burning with embarrassment, the pain in his back keeping him from fidgeting however as he lay still.

 

“It was no trouble, mage.” Fenris coughed to clear his throat, looking a little unsure as he trailed away, “It has… it has been a few hours. Has your magic returned?”

 

Anders looked inwards, feeling for the well of magic within him that surged at his reaching for it. “Yes.”

 

Fenris looked at him expectantly for a moment and Anders felt pinned by it. He’d never looked that long at someone without knowing what he should be doing. He got lost looking at the features of Fenris’ face until the elf nodded encouragingly at him. “Heal yourself, mage.”

 

“O-oh…” Anders pooled his magic into his hands before pressing them to his chest.

 

He could not touch his back directly but he didn’t need to. He guided it to the hurt and let it stitch and re-knit the flesh, mending it anew in a warm rush as his pain receded but his body’s reaction to the pain did not. It gave for a heady sensation of elation before he got it under control and was able to sit to face Fenris.

 

Without the pain distracting him, and with looking at Fenris’ face to see the split lip as a reminder, Anders remembered the events of a few hours ago and offered his hand. “Can I…?” 

 

Where Anders expected an outright no there was instead consideration. Fenris looked from the hand outstretched at him to the earnest face of the mage wielding the magic and, warily, the elf nodded. Surprised, Anders inched closer. He healed the split lip with just a tingle of healing magic, watching the swelling ease and the skin stitch back together like it had never been rended. Fenris inhaled a soft gasp at the feel of it and as Anders’ magic touched him, the brands lit where the magic connected to him. Outwards, only faintly at the small touch of healing magic, but down Fenris’ chin to his neck, it lit the space between them and Anders’ eyes fixed on Fenris’. His heart was pounding hard and there was that yearning again, a push he had felt every time he leaned in to correct something when he had been teaching Fenris. It was like a bag of kittens tumbling about in his stomach, like the ones Orsino let him raise when they were left on the chantry steps, fully of energy and no direction. He wanted… he wanted…

 

“A-and this?” Anders lowered his hand to gesture at the wound Fenris had made him swear he would not heal with magic. But they had little time and many enemies now, it would help if Fenris could fight.

 

Fenris nodded, a sharp jerk of his chin like he dared not move at all for fear of shattering whatever tentative thing it was that had fallen around them. The magic pulled, a tingle in his brands as Anders wove it, but it was the way it hummed in him as it touched him that had his breath hitching again. It was no surprise his brands lit on contact, it had always done that when magic was used against him. He could feel it when it was being cast, and it lit his brands when it touched him, but what was different was how gently it washed over him. Like sinking into a warm bath Fenris felt no pain from it. It was healing magic, so that made sense, and yet it was still different. Even the best healers in Minrathous had not had the gentle touch of the mage before him. 

 

The possessed abomination of mage. The reminder did not do much to halt Fenris’ thoughts as Anders smiled brightly at him. Soft white-blue light lit the mage’s face and Fenris could make out every freckle on his face as Anders’ magic soothed away the pains, making him whole again. “Heh, I… I didn’t know that would happen. It’s pretty… pretty.” Anders ducked his head, concentrating on the magic as his cheeks flushed at the awkward compliment. 

 

The pain melted away and without it Fenris felt only relief. It swallowed him in a rush and before Anders could draw back his hand, Fenris’ hand had closed around his wrist. He pulled Anders towards him, up onto his knees as Fenris rose with him, wrapping his free arm around Anders waist to keep him there. Keep him close. He felt a stutter of a word as Anders tried to say something but Fenris wasn’t thinking- he couldn’t think- he only acted. He pressed his mouth to Anders’ in a firm kiss that seemed to silence that pressing push of his nerves that had been urging him on since… since… he couldn’t say. The mage was annoying, was a pest to the very last just to be a pedantic pain, but he was kind and loyal, he would not break no matter the boot that crushed him and Fenris had no idea why he wanted to kiss Anders but it had seemed like the right thing to do. Even now with his mouth pressed against Anders’ stunned one, it still seemed right.

 

Slowly, Anders relaxed. With that came his hands snaring into Fenris’ shirt, holding him close in turn, and he pressed into the kiss with almost desperate fervour. He didn’t seem to know what he wanted but he willingly gave in to Fenris’ mouth as it parted Anders’ lips, kissing him hungrily like he might never get the chance again. 

 

Anders was lost to it. He had dreamed of what kissing a person like this might feel like and after the shock had left him he had wanted to drown in the moment. He could feel the heat of Fenris’ tongue in his mouth and the way Fenris’ lips slid against his left him adrift, swallowed by the ache that was springing like a well in his heart. It filled the pain with need and want, pushing for more as his mind filled with static so he would not think, would only act. It was instinctive and he felt messy, sloppy and inaccurate in the face of Fenris’ skill but the elf didn’t seem to mind. He was kissing someone, he was kissing  _ Fenris _ , and it felt so good. Anders wanted to keep kissing him for as long as he could.

 

They didn’t have the time and Fenris pulled back unwillingly, but to the sight of Anders’ flushed face staring at him with hooded eyes and a reddened mouth. It did not sit easy with him still that he held a mage and he uncertainly drew back as he tried to weigh what he had done within himself. Everything he knew about mages had told him never to trust one to even stab him in the back right, let alone the sanity of taking one to bed. They really did not have the time for that thought- or the wine to hand for Fenris to entertain pursuing it- so instead he turned away and coughed awkwardly into his hand. It did not help to break the moment, however, as Anders touched his lips dazedly. Fenris had the horrible realisation that not only had Anders probably never been kissed like that but that he had taken that moment from Anders without even so much as asking if he would want that. That thought sat as ill as the reminder Anders was an abomination. 

 

“We… we should go. We have to warn Hawke.” Fenris murmured softly.

 

Anders blinked, mind slow to catch up as he seemed lost in remembering their kiss with his finger still tracing his lower lip. “Hawke…” He repeated. Then his eyes widened and he looked horrified, “Hawke!” He repeated louder and with more distress. “Oh Maker, fuck!” The hand that had been tracing his mouth clapped over it instead, pressing hard as if to rub the kiss away. “You kissed me!” Anders accused, “You kissed me after you kissed her!”

 

“She kissed me!” Fenris argued back childishly. He would not defend himself to this mage, so with a disgusted noise he extricated himself from the blankets to find the bag Varric had brought up with them. He needed his armour and he would not face Anders’ building ire. 

 

The mage was not to be dissuaded however as he simply followed after Fenris doggedly. “You can’t just do that! Who goes around just kissing people?!”

 

“Kissing people?” Isabela peered in from the balcony curiously at the raised voices.

 

Both Anders and Fenris whirled around to her in unison as they shouted, “Stay out of it!”

 

Dutifully she ducked back out and kept to herself. She, Aveline and Sebastian had been taking bets on what might happen when they had seen Fenris helping to patch Anders back together again. She held out her palm expectantly for the pebbles they used as currency between them. One day, she would have their real coin for that particular bet.

 

Fenris growled as he hurled his shirt aside with little care, ignoring that affronted noise Anders made at the disrespect for his home. He pulled on his tunic and pointed a commanding finger at Anders. “We do not have time to talk about this. Grab your staff and let’s go, mage.”

 

“I don’t have a staff, you nug-humping arsehole!” Anders was fully red in the face now and he looked about ready to burst, whether from rage, exhaustion or stress, or perhaps all three, Fenris wasn’t sure. 

 

“Good one!”

 

“Piss off, Isabela!” Anders hollered at her before turning to Fenris once more, refusing to ogle the elf at all as he donned his armour. It didn’t even cross his mind. All he could feel was the most peculiar mix of elation at having the feel of Fenris’ mouth against his still throwing him off, and the horror at having betrayed Hawke. “Don’t you care about Hawke at all?!”

 

Fenris pinched his brow and sighed angrily through his nose. “Do not push me, mage.” He shoved his hands into the familiar gauntlets he had not worn for too long. His guard armour had served it’s purpose but this armour had been made specifically for him and much as he loathed anything from his time with Danarius it was a good set of armour. 

 

“I have a bloody name! You just kissed me, you might as well use it!” Anders snarked as Fenris finished dressing, eyeing the elf from top to toe as Fenris rolled his shoulders. “Well, don’t you look terrifyingly spiky.” 

 

“Enough!” Kissing Anders had been a massive oversight, Fenris thought. As insufferable as he was being, Fenris couldn’t honestly say he had preferred it when Anders had been meeker but he wouldn’t have minded not having the mage needling him at every turn. Especially about something he was determined not to examine at that moment. “We have to find the refugees before Meredith does. We have until daybreak-...” Fenris was strapping his knife to his hip, already heading for the stairs, when he realised Anders was not following him. Looking back the mage’s stubbornly arms-folded stance had loosened. His shoulders were slumped and one hand was rubbing at his arm like he was uncomfortable. “Mage? Are you coming?”

 

Anders met his gaze for a moment but with a defeated slump he looked away. “... I can’t.”

 

“This was your idea but a few hours ago,” Fenris accused, “I thought you were Hawke’s friend.”

 

“Yeah, well, Meredith is my Mistress and I can’t disobey her again.” Anders curled his arms around himself and Fenris could see it, the remembered pain of the caning he had received. His magic had healed the injuries but nothing would remove the memory of it. “I can’t.”

 

Fenris shook his head, disappointed even if he did understand where Anders was speaking from. It did not feel right for the mage to have made so many steps into his own, only to be shoved so firmly back down. “She defended you, mage. She is your friend. This is how you thank her?” The jab was petty and Fenris could see the mage flinch even when he could only see Anders’ back. He made a disgusted noise and turned back to the stairs. “Fine. I will go to them myself.”

 

The mage listened as Fenris took the stairs quickly, his barefeet padding softly over the wood until he heard the door at the lower of the tower admit the elf to leave. He sagged against the table, looking up as his Guardians filtered in from the balcony one by one. Their faces were pinched expressions of uncomfortable disappointment and it made him angry. 

 

“What are you all looking at me like that for?!” He bit out furiously, “What? You want me to go storm Darktown and rescue Hawke like she’s some damsel in distress? Save her from Meredith’s evil clutches as if the whole city will overlook the fact we’re both mages, like I even stand a chance in winning against Meredith let alone managing to save the refugees and Hawke and the whole Maker damned city?!” Anders lifted his arms, gesticulating wildly as his voice grew louder, a tremor in his words as his emotions betrayed him. “She already has her bloody knight in spiky armour! It isn’t me, and even if that bastard kissed me, he doesn’t want me either- and I wouldn’t do that to Hawke! Neither of them need me and I won’t be in the way any more!” He dropped onto one of the stools beside the table, his rage dissipating on a long, sighed exhale. “Meredith might be wrong about a lot of things but she’s not wrong about me. I’m playing at being something I’m not thinking I can make a difference…”

 

He buried his face in his hands as Aveline walked over to his robe, still discarded to the floor from Meredith’s visit, and carefully she reached into one of the inner pockets. She held out the paper she found to Anders, watching him look to the map Hawke had given him what felt like an age ago. Guilt drew his brows together and he reached for the map with unsure fingers. He inhaled deeply and shook his head. 

 

“I must be going crazy.” He sighed, taking the robe and pulling it over his head as he hurried to the stairs.

 

\---

 

Fenris had moved quickly through the empty chantry but Anders knew the layout better and caught up to him quickly. He grabbed the elf’s arm, leaping back in alarm when Fenris lit up like dawn had come early. 

 

“Fenris, it’s me! I’m coming with you.” Anders hissed, arms raised in surrender.

 

Fenris grit his jaw and slowly dimmed his brands, looking at Anders as if the mage had a death wish. “So glad you changed your mind,” He bit out.

 

“I’m doing this for Hawke,” Anders jabbed back, “Hawke gave me a map so we can get to her faster.” He held up the small square of paper and watched Fenris squint at it curiously.

 

“Is that Hightown?”

 

Anders nodded. “I think so, but I’m not sure where this mansion is,” He pointed to the circled house on the square. “Once we find that, Hawke said we needed to follow the directions here and we would find her.”

 

“You are sure it is in Hightown?”

 

“Yes.” Anders chewed the word acidically as Fenris raised a brow at him in doubt. The mage sighed angrily, “Look, would you just trust me for one second- or if not me, Hawke. You bloody insufferable-”

 

Fenris interrupted him with another of his infuriating disgusted noises. “Fine. If you say it is a map of Hightown then fine; it is. But if we are to get to Hawke in time we have to work together,” He said it as though the idea of cooperating with anyone, let alone Anders, was not something he particularly wanted to do. Anders could empathise with that.

 

This was going to be a long night.

 

\---

 

His brief excursion to the festival aside, Anders had no real experience sneaking around Kirkwall and avoiding detection. Meredith’s patrols had increased with her seizing control of the city guard so the main streets and roads were immediately out. The map Anders had spent most of his life studying was almost useless with it not detailing all the little alleyways and side streets that Fenris seemed to have almost memorised. He led Anders through the city with such certainty and speed that Anders had to keep close and pay attention to make sure he was not left behind.

 

Staring at the back of Fenris’ head all the while was not helping Anders’ inner turmoil either. Every time he remembered how it felt to kiss Fenris made him feel hurt all over again, and he couldn't stop remembering it. It had happened so fast and he had just given himself over to it as though he didn’t remember with equally painful clarity the sight of Fenris and Hawke kissing. And he had seen them kissing sweetly by candlelight in the wake of Hawke’s obvious worry for Fenris, and Fenris had kissed him in the dark with only his brands lighting them at all- like it was some stupid mistake. That’s what it was, it had to be. Fenris hadn’t meant to do it. Anders knew himself that the rush of healing was pleasant and addling at first. For someone so adverse to magic Fenris couldn’t be familiar enough with it and had simply acted. That it meant the world to Anders wasn’t Fenris’ concern.

 

**You are agitating yourself.**

 

_ I was already agitated. _

 

**You are making it worse.**

 

_ Well you aren’t making it better. _

 

**Stop being childish.**

 

_ How about you- _

 

He stumbled into the back of Fenris as the elf drew to a stop and Anders was too lost in his arguing with Justice to notice. Fenris shot him a narrow eyed look over his shoulder to which Anders impishly stuck his tongue out in retaliation. 

 

Fenris pushed him back by one hand, retreating further into the shadows of the alleyway as a templar patrol passed them. Anders held his breath as the clanking of their armour faded away with each step until eventually Fenris turned to him and spoke, “Quickly.” 

 

Anders took that to mean that Fenris had brought them to where the elf thought the map referred to, and looking around from the map to their surroundings the layout seemed right. It was Hightown but as seedy as the richest part of town could get- mostly just meaning abandoned. The painted walls of the building they faced were flaked and the family crest on the plaque by the door had all but eroded with time. 

 

“You would think the nobles would notice refugees coming and going from their midst.” Anders murmured to Fenris as the elf busied himself strongarming the barred door. 

 

Fenris grunted as he wedged his shoulder against it’s frame. “This is not the entrance- or exit- that the refugees use, then.”

 

“A trap? Why would Hawke…” He trailed off as Fenris shoved again and this time the door gave way. He looked around fervently at the wrenching screech of rusted hinges and the creak of rotted wood as Fenris stepped forward cautiously. 

 

Determining at least the entryway safe he beckoned Anders to follow, closing the door behind them. “Not a trap. It seems suited for you, however.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Cast a magelight,” Fenris said instead of answering, waiting pointedly until Anders did so before moving or answering.

 

Anders rolled his eyes. “I thought you hated magic.”

 

Fenris pointedly threw the mage a sharp look, growing tired of how eagerly the man hurled that in his face. He wondered if Anders would still be as candid if he knew _ why  _ Fenris hated magic, but Fenris didn’t want to test that out particularly. “Hawke’s map leads us to an entrance that is relatively close to Kirkwall’s chantry, by all accounts a useless entrance for any of the refugees what with them reportedly occupying Darktown- under and further than this from Hightown. This entrance is of no use to them, but it is useful to you.”

 

It was a sharp sort of warmth that filled Anders at the idea of Hawke having chosen this place to help him, warmth of her friendship turned pointed after his having kissed the man she had also kissed. Anders couldn’t say if Hawke loved Fenris but it certainly seemed to be a mess waiting to happen with his being added to it- a triangle that would no doubt end not in his favour. Anders would rather swallow his pride and his heart than lose the two friends he had made. The magelight wisped and bobbed as Anders stepped further into the foyer, toeing his boot at dusty debris littering the spoiled carpet. 

 

“Wonder who lived here… and what happened to them.”

 

Fenris was about to remind Anders of their task when he took in the surroundings a little more. They were worn and in disrepair, certainly, but the architecture… it wasn’t entirely that of the Free Marches. It had a hand in another style, one far more familiar to Fenris.

 

Anders had continued poking through the dust and years of neglect but Fenris had frozen. The foyer gaped before him, a scrabbling rush of something cold and unwelcome seeping in the back of his mind as he stared up the grand staircase. In his mind’s eye he looked up at himself, staring down not at himself but the broken form of a magister. He knew whose house this had been. Fenris had been the tool with which Danarius had claimed it. 

 

It also meant he knew where they needed to go. 

 

“Come, mage,” Fenris directed as he forced himself from the frozen snatch of memory. The less time he spent contemplating his life with Danarius, the better. Anders followed after him with a pinched, curious expression, but he did not speak until Fenris’ turns about the servant’s quarters led them to the wine cellar.

 

“I wouldn’t think now was the time for that,” Anders teased. It wasn’t as warm as it had once been and Fenris only knew the difference now that it was gone. 

 

Fenris scowled at the mage. “I know this place. The exit we seek is in the wine cellar.”

 

“How could you possibly-”

 

“There is much you do not know about me.” 

 

Anders scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Apparently.” He held his tongue as Fenris led them into the gloomy, cold depths of the cellar. His magelight cast the place in pale, watery light as Anders drew to a halt behind Fenris. 

 

The elf had stopped in front of a pile of boxes and without a word he hunkered down to brace his shoulder against them, pushing and grunting as he moved the whole pile in their way to face against the other wall. His brands had not lit once, that was entirely Fenris’ own strength. 

 

**Focus, Anders.**

 

_ Right. _ Anders shook his head as Fenris pulled back a mouldy rug and revealed a trapdoor. Looking from the door to the map Hawke had given him, Anders saw that the symbol she had scribbled onto the house was the same as the one carved into the trapdoor. Around were letters that Anders recognised but could not decipher. 

 

“Andraste’s arse, it’s in Tevene,” Anders sighed. “ Des.. destr...uam? Aper...er? Ire? Oh I don’t even-”

 

Fenris gripped the iron wrung on the trapdoor and heaved, wrenching the protesting wood from where it had no doubt settled for many years. The dust kicked up had Anders coughing as Fenris peered down into the depths.

 

“Fenris! It could have been enchanted!” Anders hissed.

 

Fenris rolled his eyes. “My brands felt no magic, beyond your own. Besides, your rather butchered attempt at pronouncing Tevene assured me otherwise. It said ‘pull to open’.”

 

Anders blinked at the door, innocently doing nothing malevolent at all, and then looked to Fenris who was doing that quirked mouth smile that he did when he was particularly smug with himself. He couldn’t help it; he laughed. Fenris blinked at him in surprise but Anders couldn’t help it, laughing until he was wiping his eyes. “You’re an arse, you know that?”

 

“You have mentioned once or twice.” The quirked smile was back and Anders felt almost like they were friends again.

 

Not that they had stopped being friends. Anders wasn’t sure on the ins and outs of friendship exactly, but he was pretty sure friends didn’t kiss each other- at least not the way they had- and the awkwardness it had left didn’t feel like friendship at all. But this did. This felt… good.

 

The sewers they found themselves in felt less good. Ankle deep sewage water, stagnant and stale, lapped at Anders’ boots as he took tentative steps with uneasy footing. “This… this can’t be right, this is where the refugees have been living?! This is disgusting!” Anders gave a plaintive whine in his half whisper as he hiked his robes up in his hands so they didn’t trail in the water.

 

“Be glad you have boots, mage.”

 

Anders drew up short, remembering his barefooted companion, before pitying Fenris’ current predicament with every fiber of his being. “... I can carry you?”

 

“No.”

 

“On my back, like a piggyback ride how parents and their children do.”

 

“I am not your child.”

 

“No, but it’s better than bridal, right?”

 

Fenris’ disgusted face wrinkled further as he shook his head and soldiered on diligently. “I will walk.” Anders fell into step at Fenris’ elbow and the magelight followed, bobbing just in front of them as they walked slowly through the rounded tunnel. “This might be how they get around… the sewer tunnels spread all over the city, as a means of escape it would be invaluable. The network is largely unchecked and I can not see Meredith’s men traipsing through here on the chance they might catch an apostate. They would have to be fairly certain.” Anders’ only response was a whimper of sound that could have been an agreement as much a disagreement. “Mage?”

 

Anders made a strangled sound again, shooting a fevered look to the vaulted ceiling only an inch or two above them. “I-I… I’m not a fan of… small spaces.”

 

“Ah,” Fenris articulately commented, “Can I… is there something I can do to… help?”

 

“Talk to me? There wasn’t anyone to talk to in the cell Meredith put me in.” 

 

If Fenris had thought his rage at Meredith’s treatments of her charge lessened, the flare of them at her mention affirmed that he would exact some sort of retribution somehow. It wasn’t his place to, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about defending a mage, but Anders? He knew he couldn’t abide the thought of Anders being left to her mercy again.

 

“I could tell you of Tevinter?”

 

Anders shot him an uncertain look. “A-are you sure? That you want to talk about that?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I just… I mean, I could be wrong, but… you’re an elf, and not a mage, so… plus you couldn’t read, and then there are your markings, I don’t see anyone doing that willingly. I kind of figured you were a-”

 

“Stop.” Fenris had stopped himself, still and wary as he glared at Anders. “Do not finish that sentence, mage.”

 

“I didn’t want to upset you, rather the opposite actually,” Anders mumbled as he clutched at the edges of his robes.

 

Fenris pinched his brow and let out a disgusted noise. “Fine. Yes, I was a slave. Are you happy, mage?”

 

“What in the Maker’s name would make me happy about that? I had hoped otherwise, maybe servant or something, anything but wanting you to have suffered at all. Why do you have to assume the worst of me? Because I am a mage?” Anders grit his teeth. “Why do I even ask, of course it’s the mage thing. I don’t want to cause you- or Hawke, or anyone- this trouble! I just want to warn Hawke and get back to my tower where I can be no bother- or trouble!- to anyone ever again!”

 

Fenris lunged for Anders’ arm as the mage turned to storm away down the tunnel, “Mage, that isn’t what I-... wait, ‘trouble’...” He turned to look down the way they had come, then ahead. He could see nothing in the darkness but he was tense now. “We should have run into something by now.”

 

Wrestling his arm free of Fenris’ grasp with a grunt of outrage the mage looked where Fenris was looking. “Like what?”

 

“A trap, a guard, something, even an-” Anders choked on a cry as his magelight was extinguished, sagging against Fenris as his magic was sapped away in a rush. “Ambush,” Fenris finished angrily, holding Anders up and trying to reach for his dagger as his brands lit. His first thought was that the templars had somehow found them but as the tunnel lit in soft white-blue light Fenris saw only Fereldens. They lit their own torches and cried out, surrounding them and baring down on them with their battle cries. Fenris had never seen a Ferelden force to know their tactics, but he’d read of them. Even the lack of mabari did not detract from it, feral and thundering as they roared and jeered. The refugees could have been ex-soldiers, ex-templars, ex-anything. Meredith had discounted them all but Fenris knew better, and he now knew better up close. They had lost their homes and that had left them begging on foreign streets but these were still people- people who had fought and survived. At least one of their number had definitely been a templar if he had silenced Anders and Fenris had no way of guessing the skills of the others. 

 

The ambush seized them, snatching them apart and Fenris only fought one arm free before five more bore him to the wall. He was tied in seconds, Anders hauled alongside him in a similar fashion. Anders was weak and easily moved, adrift from having his magic muted, but Fenris knew even though he could phase through his bonds he couldn’t take them without Anders’ help. Not that he wanted to, they had come to warn the refugees- not kill them. Fenris opened his mouth to say as much and one of their captors fastened a gag around his mouth. Fenris carefully weighed how angry Hawke would be if he killed just a few of them.

 

“Gamlen! We’ve got two live ones!” One of their captors called out to an equally unremarkable and shabbily dressed man, but who was apparently leading their group.

 

“What have we here then, hm?” Gamlen folded his arms and stood over Anders and Fenris as they were forced to kneel in the sewage. “Pretty clever of you to have found your way down here, I told Marian we needed to watch this exit. Fortunately for us you’re not going to be able to tell anyone what you’ve found.” Gamlen ignored their protesting and wriggling and led them further down the sewer tunnel. 

 

A set of stairs led them up and out into what Fenris guessed was Darktown from the gloom but sudden appearance of stalls and tents. The tents themselves were similar to those that Fenris had seen at the festival and the people milling around looked to be refugees so it was safe to assume they had found where they had been looking to go. Anders tried to thrash free of the hands holding him but only succeeded in receiving a knock to the back of his head. Fenris tried to snarl something at the man who had done it but the gag rendered his rage inaudible.

 

There were people peering at them curiously as Gamlen called out with the air of one bragging, “Found a couple of Meredith’s spies! Here, this one looks to be her Captain of the Guard!” They were halted in the midst of the gathered tents, what might have amounted to a town square if Darktown were to have such a thing. Gamlen tipped up Anders’ face and sneered down at him, “Well, well… aren’t you her loyal pet mage? What should we do with them?!”

 

Fenris phased through his bonds as the murderous suggestions poured out, but no sooner had he curled his fingers around his gag then there were hands on him wrestling him down. He was strong, but he wasn’t strong enough to overpower ten men already pinning him down. His attempt to free himself had only angered them and Fenris could hear many swords being unsheathed. Anders was shouting into his gag, desperately trying to get free as he glared hatefully at their captors. Fenris couldn’t see a way out of this and he felt the cold bite of a sword touching his neck. His eyes locked onto Anders’, the mage’s amber eyes wide and full of horror as he went utterly still, and Fenris found himself wishing he could have… maybe if he’d had more time to figure out what he wanted, he could have told Anders…

 

“Stop!”

 

Hawke’s voice cut through the raucous calls for their execution, preceding her actually shoving her way through the crowd with Chip at her heels. 

 

“Get back, girl. These spies need to be dealt with,” Gamlen insisted.

 

Hawke gave Gamlen a frustrated look, “Uncle, these men aren’t spies! They’re my friends- they helped me!” She shoved off the men pinning Fenris down, unwinding the gag from his mouth as he coughed and stood up. 

 

Gamlen sneered at them as Hawke moved then to Anders, helping the shaken mage to his feet once he was freed “Well they never said so.”

 

“I don’t recall you asking,” Fenris ground out as he squared up to the man who had been ready to kill them. If Hawke had been but a moment later… Anders rested a hand on Fenris’ forearm as Hawke intervened. 

 

“Fenris was the soldier who saved the farmer and his family, and Anders was the one who helped me escape the chantry!” Hawke insisted.

 

Fenris turned to face the crowd peering at them, venting his rage instead on them. “We came to warn you!” He snarled at them. “Meredith plans to lead the entirety of the Gallow’s templars down upon you! She has found where in Darktown you hide and will attack at dawn!”

 

While the crowd rippled in panic and fear, it was as ever Hawke who stepped forward decisively. “We have to leave! Gather what you cannot leave, make sure everyone knows- we leave now!” 

 

Gamlen was gone immediately, muttering about ‘Leandra’ and ashen at the warning. The rest of the crowd dispersed like a pack of feral dogs was chasing them but it was gratifying to see them not hesitate. Hawke’s trust counted for something that they did not waste time asking questions and doubting, but instead they stood a good chance of being long gone by the time Meredith found them. Hawke’s hand brushed his and Fenris twitched in surprise, freezing as her hands clasped his shoulders and she embraced him.

 

“You took a terrible risk coming here. They’re grateful, even if they don’t look it.” She stepped back and offered him a smile. “ _ I’m _ grateful,” She amended.

 

Fenris swallowed hard, gaze flicking to Anders who was watching them with a wounded expression. He gave Fenris a hard glare, undone by how his chin trembled, before he looked away and stayed silent. Fenris couldn’t stomach that and he put another step of distance between himself and Hawke. She was a perceptive woman and she looked at the gap between them before following his gaze to Anders. When she looked back, Hawke had a knowing look on her face. “It was, uh… it was the mage’s idea,” Fenris offered. Anders’ head jerked up in surprise as Fenris looked to him. “Your thanks should be given to him.”

 

Anders shook his head a little as Hawke smiled at him. “No, really… we… we did it together. Though, without your map we never would have found this place at all.”

 

“Nor would I!” Meredith’s voice boomed out across the wide tunnel, her men lining the routes out as yet more templars filed in.

 

Meredith herself strode forward, her armour gleaming in the low light, like Andraste but forged of flame and not wounded by it. The glee of her victory was visible even at a distance. Everywhere Anders looked there were refugees being captured, some dragged out of their homes, children with their arms as thin as twigs held in iron grips, screaming, screaming and more screaming. Spears and swords and shields, bashed and knocked into unarmoured refugees everywhere he looked. Hawke raised her arms to cast but no sooner had she brushed the fade than a silence robbed her of it. Chip barked and lunged for a templar as they neared her but his teeth glanced harmlessly off their armour, a booted foot cracking his head off the ground where the mabari slumped. 

 

“No! Chip!” Hawke reached for him but sword held her back, pressing her into Anders’ side, Fenris at their other sides. They were surrounded.

 

“Finally… Darktown is mine at last,” Meredith lauded. Anders felt sick. Worse than coming too late they had instead led Meredith right to the refugees. Meredith took each step towards them with relished joy, trailing her gauntleted hand under Anders’ jaw as she passed. “My dear boy, I knew one day you would be of some use to me.”

 

Anders choked out, “...no,” as he pleaded with Meredith to undo it all somehow. Two templars held Hawke by her wrists tight behind her back but she held no less fire for her capture as she sneered at Meredith.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Meredith leaned in to Hawke’s face, her piercing gaze roving over Hawke’s in a way that made Hawke’s skin crawl. “He led me right to you.”

 

“You’re lying!” Hawke spat.

 

Meredith seemed unphased by the comment, turning instead to Fenris who was glowing faintly as he sized up his chances of escape. The guards surrounding them, including the three holding him pinned, did not make his chances look good. “And look what else I have caught! Escaped property,” She drawled, “Won’t Magister Danarius be pleased at the return of his slave.”

 

Fenris’ arms phased through the grip of the men holding him, illuminated in lyrium glow he drew back his hands to lunge for Meredith. “I am no slave!” He roared, stilling at the collar one of the guards snapped around his neck. His brands blinked out and he was hauled back into the guard’s hold. 

 

“Now,” Meredith tapped the enchanted collar tight around Fenris’ neck, “You are.” Anders was shaking as he watched Fenris fall limp at the weight of the collar on his throat. It had sapped him of his will as easily as it had his brands and Anders wanted to shake him, wanted to rail at him to keep fighting. If Fenris didn’t, how was Anders supposed to? “There will be a bonfire in the chantry square tomorrow, and you are all invited to attend,” Meredith addressed the crowd of bound and captured refugees as jubilantly as a child before adding, “Lock them up.” 

 

Anders fell to his knees as the guards began leading people away, Fenris’ feet dragging on the floor even as Hawke kicked and swore in protest. The mage’s hands scrabbled to hold pleadingly at Meredith’s tabard as he hung his head. “Please, mistress! No!” Her head turned to him, underpinned by the burning sword emblazoned on her armour, and Anders felt the empty despair of her shunning him as she looked at him. He let her tabard slip through his fingers and gave in to the weakness of his body, missing his magic and the soothing of Justice’s presence now muted without his fade access. He knelt in the dirt and filth and he… gave up.

 

“Take him to the chantry tower. Ensure he stays there,” Meredith ordered but Anders was deaf to it. 

  
They had lost.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There would be time, Anders hoped, to reassess his worldview later. And if there wasn’t then he would be dead so what did it matter? It was perhaps a maudlin view but Anders felt more alive than he had ever felt before, save perhaps the blissful moment when Fenris had kissed him and there hadn’t been a thought in his mind beyond ‘oh, so that’s what this feels like’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise this took so long, life happens and my interests drifted for a while but Fenders has been too much of a constant to be gone for too long it seems. :)

Kirkwall itself was still aflame with the embers of the burned down buildings Meredith had left in the wake of her hunt. The night sky was tinged with the burn of it even as the sun had long since set and the ash hung in the air like a hellish snow, choking and tainting everything it touched. The chantry square was decorated like the inside of a torture chamber, heaving cages crammed full of the captured refugees were lined up ready to be dealt with- all of them facing the centre of the square where a large platform had been erected. A line of guards kept the gathered crowd of Kirkwall’s citizens back from the platform but they could all see it clear enough. 

 

Atop the platform was a pile of kindling and a sturdy pole to which Hawke was tied. She had been stripped down and clothed in a roughspun sack and she was sporting a split lip but was still defiant as she faced Meredith who stood on the platform with her. 

 

Samson shook his head and fought the hold Cullen had on him, the cuffs he had been ordered to place Samson in held loosely in his grasp. “You know this isn’t right!” Samson was already without his armour, no longer part of the order, but he’d had to go and incite aggression against the templars and Meredith wouldn’t let it slide. 

 

Cullen looked helplessly from Meredith upon the platform, to Samson, to the caged Fereldens he himself should have been chained alongside, and then to Hawke. “Sam, I-I…” His hand closed tight around the handcuffs as he struggled with himself.

 

Meredith’s voice rang out over the crowd and despite their argument they both fell silent as she spoke, something akin to awe and horror at what she had wrought upon Kirkwall captivating them. “The prisoner Marian Hawke of Lothering has been found guilty of practicing magic outside the confines of a chantry sanctioned Circle. The sentence for which is death!” The templars were holding back the unrested crowd threatening to push through. Where once she would have had their support, Meredith’s treatment of the citizens had had her fall from their favour. “An example will be made of you and as Andraste was once cleansed, so shall you be, apostate!”

 

Hawke fought against the ties holding her but she had been dosed with magebane and lacked even the strength to fight as hard as she could have, weakly looking from the kindling under her barefeet to the torch clutched in Alrik’s hand at Meredith’s side. She would die and there was nothing she could do.

 

Elthina had made her objections, weak as they were, known but even Orsino’s more vocal ones were ignored as the templars sealed them both in the chantry. Meredith’s mad grip on Kirkwall was immovable and as Hawke had always suspected, by the time anyone really tried to oppose her it was already too late. 

 

Meredith took the torch from Alrik’s grasp and stepped towards Hawke. “Your time has come, apostate. You stand before the Maker’s judgement and yet even now… it is not too late.” The inviting curl of Meredith’s mouth had Hawke pressing back against the stake she was tied to as Meredith leaned towards her. “I can save you from the Maker’s wrath in this world, I can redeem you. All you need do is choose me or your destruction.”

 

With what strength she had, Hawke curled her tongue and spat at Meredith. Meredith reared back with disgust but when she looked at Hawke’s fierce expression she knew that she had lost any hope of convincing Hawke to come to her side. The yearning in Meredith turned sour with rejection and she held the torch aloft with righteous assurance. 

 

“The apostate has refused to atone and in the eyes of the Maker this apostate has put the soul of every-...”

 

Meredith’s fevered rant filtered up to the lofty towers of the chantry high above the square and Anders could make out every word. Or he could, if he was listening. 

 

He wasn’t.

 

The templars who had confined him had bound him in chains with not enough room to stand from the kneeling position they had left him in. The chains wrapped around the many pillars of the tower edge they had let him observe the scene below, fastened and locked he was exactly how they had left him. He hadn’t even tried to break free.

 

Isabela was smashing one of the locks against the pillar, cursing up a storm as she wrestled with it. “What I wouldn’t give for a good lockpick right about now!”

 

“Aye!” Sebastian agreed from where he was futilely trying to use a stick from a bird’s nest to open another lock. It snapped in his hands and he growled at the offending twig in his hand. 

 

Aveline was pulling and twisting at the chains where they hung between the pillars, straining as hard as she could but her stone feet scraped along the floor as she did so. She couldn’t get a hard enough grip to put any real weight behind it and she let out a frustrated grunt before turning to Anders. “Come on, Anders! Pull yourself together!”

 

“Your friends are down there!” Sebastian tried, a little more gently.

 

Anders’ head lolled to the side as he looked down to where Hawke was tied to a stake. He could just about make out the speck of white hair that he figured was Fenris, now collared and chained and to be returned to a life of slavery. “It’s all my fault,” Anders breathed. He had done this, he had led Meredith right to the refugees. He had handed her all her enemies on a silver platter and betrayed the only friends he had. 

 

“You have to break these chains!” Aveline insisted.

  
“I can’t.”

 

Isabela scoffed, “You haven’t even tried!”

 

“What difference would it make?”

 

Sebastian stared at Anders in shock, “You… you can’t let Meredith win! When she-” Sebastian’s voice cut off as it did when they tried to defy the blood magic binding them by talking about Meredith’s past actions that had resulted in them turned to stone. He shook his head and tried again. “Anders, you’re giving up? That’s it?!”

 

With a louder frustrated roar Aveline held a chain and shook it Anders, furious and disappointed in him with every word, “These chains aren’t holding you here, Anders, you are!”

 

“Leave me alone,” Anders snapped, a vicious bite to his words as he glared at Aveline.

 

She drew up short at his words and dropped the chain in her hand. “Fine,” Aveline spat, “We’ll leave you alone.”

 

“Aveline-”

 

“No, Sebastian. If he wants to sit by and let Meredith kill his friends and destroy Kirkwall, who are we to stop him? I only saw in him someone stronger than that, someone who could stand up and fight to their last for the right thing- to give  _ Justice _ !” Aveline turned away and scoffed, “I was wrong.” She fell still in her statue pose and did not move again as Sebastian rested a hand on her shoulder. 

 

With a sigh Sebastian obligingly fell into position beside her, leaving only Isabela who stared at Anders in disbelief. He gave her a defiant tilt of his jaw and she turned away from him as well. “You’re better than this,” She said firmly, falling into place with Aveline and Sebastian before going still. 

 

Anders was truly alone. 

 

Good. He didn’t want them to see this.

 

Forcing the chains to make room for him Anders stood and stepped to the edge of the tower, looking down to where all of Kirkwall stood to witness Hawke’s execution. Meredith plunged the torch she held into the kindling under Hawke’s feet and it caught like dry grass. It billowed smoke and Anders felt worry grip him at seeing Hawke helplessly trying to get free. 

 

“No!” He screamed out, pulling against the chains holding him in place. They twisted and tore at him, but Anders paid them no mind. Instead, he listened only to Justice.

 

The fissures of blue skittered over his skin in a familiar way but the rush of fade power that Anders had spent his whole life fighting down was instead swallowing him up. He let it. He let Justice spread through him like a wave until he felt like a passenger in his own mind. It was Justice who pulled him back though, kept him anchored in the moment so that the power was _ theirs _ , not Justice’s. It was their strength and their rage that fought against the chains until the very pillars holding the chains began to groan and grind.

 

Anders kept his eyes fixed on Hawke and the rage of the injustice fueled him, the cracks overtaking his skin until he was cut like a mosaic of fadelight. He was shining brighter than Fenris’ lyrium as stone and mortar crumbled overhead. Below, in the square, the rumbling of the chantry tower had made the bells shudder and ring softly- like a warning. Fenris raised his head from where it hung against his chest, looking up to where the tower was- to Anders. He could see fade-blue light as steady as a beacon and the stone was raining down, just pebbles and dust but enough. It looked like the Maker’s own house was fighting back. Meredith was deaf to it as she watched the fire take hold, watched as it choked Hawke until she fell limp against her bonds.

 

When Justice roared with their voice it was otherworldly, ringing with a power Anders had never known to fear as it bellowed through the tower. The chains holding them down finally gave, buckling the two pillars with them, and Anders fell to his knees as the broken chains landed around him in a heap. It was Justice who drove them up again. Anders felt unstoppable with a fire unquenchable in his gut as Justice, who had been silenced for so long, was given power and purpose to exact judgement.

 

Justice took up the discarded chains and looped them around one of the many gargoyles decorating the tower edge. 

  
_ W-what are you- oh no, no, no, Justice, I don’t think this is a good idea! _

 

**I have thought this through. It will be fine.** The fade spirit insisted. 

 

_ I really don’t think you have- _

 

Anders was ignored as Justice propelled them over the edge of the chantry tower and into nothing. The choking smog was worse here and it turned Anders’ stomach harder than the lurch of nothing under him, the reality of what awaited Hawke much sharper as it silenced Anders and Justice deftly caught their feet together on the chantry outer wall.

 

Three stone faces peered over the lip and down to where Anders and Justice were. 

 

“Did he just-” Sebastian choked.

 

“Oh Maker, he’s alive, thank Andraste.” Aveline groaned.

 

“Do a backflip!” Isabela cheered.

 

Anders ignored all of them, Justice’s mind alongside his filling him with more thoughts and ideas of what they could do. 

 

_ We swing down and we grab her. _

 

**What?**

 

_ Like we did just now, but we grab her off the bonfire. _

 

**I thought you did not approve of that plan.**

 

_ I changed my mind, come on, let’s go! _

 

Justice needed no further urging as he coiled their legs and took a running leap from the chantry wall. The chain links skittered through their fingers as Anders dropped them down the distance they needed, cries and shrieks from the crowd heralding their arrival. The platform was elevated from the square but it wasn’t enough that they could reach with the chains.

 

_ Justice- _

 

**I know.**

 

_ What are we- _

 

**Hush, Anders.**

 

The mage gave into the trust the spirit asked of him as the chain slipped from their fingers entirely. Fear gripped Anders but Justice was absolute. He had let the chain’s receding momentum slow their own before he let go but it was not enough- they were still too high. A flood of magic swallowed them in a barrier, one that shattered when they hit the platform but thankfully not shattering his legs in the process. Anders’ trust in Justice had been well placed it seemed, the spirit seemed to know how to use Anders’ magic better than he did. 

 

Justice’s attention was on Meredith when they landed, but Anders pushed the spirit’s anger aside with the more pressing concern of Hawke. Hawke’s head lolled towards him as she slurred out his name, Anders rushing to her immediately. He kicked aside the smoldering kindling and the ropes turned to ash in his hands- his own doing, or Justice’s, as the magic quelled in his fingers to hold Hawke. She slumped against him and Anders gritted his teeth. This was his friend. They had hurt her!

 

Anders’ own rage unstoppered Justice’s and the guards that rushed the platform stood no chance of recieving mercy. The fade pulsed in the splits of his skin before Anders threw out his free hand, fire spilling from his fingers in a ball that exploded and threw them back.

 

“Suck on a fireball!” He roared, less fierce than he had thought it might come out but it felt good to express his rage. 

 

“Mage! Behind you!” Fenris’ voice was weak, distant across the square, but Anders turned at the word and only just managed to sidestep Alrik’s sword. Meredith snarled as Anders gathered Hawke over his shoulder and scrambled from the platform. He couldn’t get to Fenris but he could save Hawke- against everything he had ever been taught to believe, against the wishes of the closest he had to a mother, Anders would save Hawke. Justice was a volcanic force inside of him that bubbled with unending power but he let Anders use it as he saw fit, pointing out the guards as they rushed them. It was Anders who shaped it- a flash of ice here, a rush of fire there, bolts of arcane energy to stun and hurt. He carved a path to the chantry doors and none who opposed him remained standing. 

 

Fenris had risen from his hunched position to watch, pride filling him even as the instinctive wariness at Anders’ display of power tempered it. This was Anders, however. Glowing blue with all the force of the demon he carried, though dragging no shades or horrors in his wake, it was Anders who had saved Hawke from the fire. 

 

The chantry doors were still barred, however, but from high above, where the chantry towers joined the chantry proper, a voice called out. No, two… three voices. 

 

A rope fell to Anders’ reach. It was thick like the ones he used to ring the bells and Anders gripped it as familiarly as he had the others. It was difficult with Hawke in his grasp but he managed. He wasn’t as strong as Fenris was, but he was tall and what muscle he had was all solid- wiry but there. Anders launched himself from the platform with Hawke in arms, feet catching himself braced on the chantry wall as he began to scale the chantry with Hawke securely over his shoulder.

 

Cries of awe and delight rippled through the crowds, the templars torn between holding the crowds back and pursuing Anders but most too stunned to do either. Sure and determined steps and pulls carried Anders up the stone until he was before the tallest statue on the chantry’s front- the statue of Andraste herself. Anders cradled Hawke in his arms and stood at Andraste’s feet, face split blue and voice booming, and he cried out to the people below with only one word: “Justice!”

 

It took, like the torch had to the kindling of Hawke’s pyre, skittering through the crowd until by the third cry the word was being bellowed back at Anders from the square. Fenris’ teeth hurt from the force of the cry and he couldn’t hear himself lending his own voice to the rallying call, but he knew it was there. His fingers tugged at his collar but it stayed as firm as it had every other time he tried. Instead, the firmness of his collar only fuelled the fire Anders had lit under him. He would take back his freedom- he would take his  _ Justice _ \- as he had done before- and he would get to Anders.

 

The rallying cry enraged the templars and they lashed out at the civilians closest, but it only served to incite them more. It invited them to lash out back with bare fists clashing against plate armour. 

 

Meredith’s eyes took in the pandemonium before she turned to Alrik. “Take the Chantry!” She seethed, “All the men you need, oust the apostate and cut down any in your path!” Alrik did not need clarification as to which apostate- even if Anders was her charge he was not, nor had he ever been, within a Circle. Meredith meant both Anders and Hawke and Alrik was happy to oblige. All that remained in the chantry were the frightened sisters and brothers, Elthina would not intervene beyond words. Orsino would, at least Meredith hoped he would. 

 

Far above the square, Anders stepped back from the balcony edge. Justice’s rage simmered low under his skin but the cracks of blue closed tight as Anders firmly took back control. Hawke was heavier to lift without Justice’s aid but Anders managed. Her skin was soot stained and she was unconscious fully now, still breathing but Anders would have preferred to see her alert. One last look at the chaos building below and Anders knew he couldn’t give Hawke his full attention just yet, not until they were safe. He carried her to one of the nearby storage rooms, full of brooms and broken pews, and he set her down on a low table. 

 

“You went full scale Justice!” Isabela grinned, as excited as Anders had ever seen her as Aveline and Sebastian watched from the doorway more wary than Isabela was.

 

Anders paid them no mind as he smoothed back Hawke’s hair, admiring the darkened streak of red across her face. “You’ll be safe here.”

 

Grimly, Anders turned to march passed his guardians back to the balcony edge. The templars below were beginning to organise and Anders wasn’t sure what to do yet. Justice was a vengeful presence in his mind with plenty of ideas but as his guardians joined at his side, it was Aveline he turned to.

 

“What should we do?” He asked.

 

Aveline gave him a stern look, searching his face for the boy she had seen grow, but nodded to herself that it was definitely still Anders. It wasn’t as though they had time to hesitate and she’d long suspected Justice being no true demon. She toed one stone foot against a length of discarded lumber. “I think this might destroy Meredith’s carriage if we can lift it.” She said it mildly, like they were discussing the weather.

 

“I love how you think, man-hands,” Isabela chuckled, Sebastian joining at her side as Anders and Aveline took the other end of the wood. It was heavy but they managed, Aveline angling it where the templars were massing beside Meredith’s carriage.

 

With one hard push the lumber toppled over the wall and crushed Meredith’s carriage like paper. The templars scattered in surprise but Meredith was not so easily shaken. She drew her sword aloft as she descended the platform and pointed her free hand to Alrik, “Lift that beam! Break down the chantry door!” Her eyes were wild with building rage.

 

As the templars scrambled to obey Fenris saw his chance to escape as he plunged his arm through the cage bars and locked it around Cullen’s neck. He hauled the choking man back hard enough to dizzy him against the bars, the handcuffs he had held for Samson falling to the floor. Samson stared in surprise but didn’t seem ready to intervene yet as Fenris simply held Cullen in his grasp. “Knight-Commander, if I could have a moment of your time, I want the keys to this cage and to this collar,” His arm flexed around Cullen’s neck, drawing a sputtered sound of protest as Fenris snarled, “Now.”

 

“R-release me-!” Cullen’s gauntlets fingers pulled at Fenris’ arm but it was immovable, his strength no match for Fenris’ as the elf regarded his struggling with mild interest. 

 

“I’d give the elf what he wants, Cullen,” Samson advised, warily stepping closer at Fenris’ tightening of his hold. 

 

Cullen looked from Samson’s face to the sight of the unattended pyre choking the air with more smoke and ash, through the fire to Meredith directing templars to break down the chantry door. Madness, Cullen thought. It was madness. And he didn’t know what to do. His indecision pleaded from his eyes to Samson who reached for his belt and took the keys- and the choice- from him. Samson passed the keys to Fenris, barely catching Cullen in time as the elf shoved Cullen towards him and knocked them both away. In seconds Fenris had the collar off his neck and hurled to the floor of his cage in disgust. 

 

Next came the cage door and with the newfound freedom came rage. It was not without direction, however, not after seeing Anders stood atop the chantry screaming out for Justice. Justice was a nice ideal, something Fenris could appreciate, but it was Vengeance he wanted for the collar and the cage. Never again, Fenris had promised himself, and Meredith had betrayed him. She had betrayed them all, he thought as he looked to the crowds beyond the templars beating and shoving the people of Kirkwall back. 

 

Fenris reached for Cullen and drew the man’s sword from his belt before he pulled his way to the top of the cage he had just freed himself from and cried out to the crowds, “People of Kirkwall!” There was a fire in his belly as much indignation as vengeance. It was strange, Fenris hadn’t been in Kirkwall all that long for it to feel like home but looking at Kirkwall burning around them he felt nothing but fury. “Meredith has ransacked this city, persecuted those most in need of her aid, and now she declares war on your chantry!” He raised the sword he had taken aloft and roared, “Will you allow it?!”

 

The response was fierce and primal as the crowds surged forward, bowling over the templars holding them back. Swords and armour were no match for sheer numbers as the templars were pushed to the ground and trampled. Some opportunistic men and women among the crowd even liberated the fallen templars of their weapons as Fenris watched, caught somewhere between surprise at his own rallying of their number and satisfaction at seeing the tides begin to tip from Meredith’s favour. 

 

Fenris leapt down from his perch and made for the cage Hawke’s family and friends had been locked in. 

 

“Look at you, Broody, leading an army in Blondie’s defence,” Varric teased as Fenris drew close.

 

Merrill perked up, “Is it not in Hawke’s defence?”

 

Carved rolled his eyes, “Maker knows at this point, I’ll take either.” His eyes flicked anxiously up at the chantry despite his front of calm, worry for his sister evident in the tightness of his stance.

 

Fenris ignored them all as he lit his brands and phased his hand into the lock. He shattered it from the inside out with ease, wrenching open the iron door to let them hurry out. “Arm yourselves!”

 

“That glowing thing is really something, you know that?” Varric chuckled, ignoring Fenris’ withering look as the dwarf hurried to a fallen templar and fished a key from his pocket. “Where did they-”

 

“Here!” Carver called, glaring down at a locked trunk Varric moved over to. The chest was narrow but long and when it sprang open Merrill, Carver and Varric eagerly drew their weapons from inside. 

 

“Well, look at that,” Varric grinned as he hefted a broadsword Fenris had not seen in far too long from the trunk’s depths, “This more like it?”

 

Fenris wordlessly dropped the sword in his hand as he reached for the broadsword. He lifted it with far greater ease than Varric had, the weight of it comforting in his hands in a way that the lighter sword he had taken from Cullen just did not manage. “Yes… this will do nicely.”

 

“Alright,” Varric cocked his crossbow to rest on his shoulder, “Bianca and I are all ears,” He patted the crossbow which Fenris took to be ‘Bianca’, “What’s the plan, Broody?”

 

The elf blinked, “Plan?” At their patient gazes he gestured to the chaos unfolding around them as if they were at the eye of the storm, “Does this look like I have a plan?” Unease gripped his throat. Hawke would have a plan and that was what these people were looking for, they were looking to their leader and in place of her they had… him. And Anders, Fenris thought. The unease tightened within him at the thought of the mage. He would not call it worry but the comparison was similar. 

 

“Desperate times and all that, necessity is the mother of invention after all,” Varric quipped.

 

Carver’s hand tightened around his own broadsword, liberated from the same chest Fenris’ had been in. “Now is not the time for you to play with words. Marian needs us.”

 

“But between us and Hawke are rather a lot of templars and a very angry Meredith,” Merrill reminded them.

 

“I can handle any templars,” Fenris shrugged easily.

 

Varric mimicked the shrug with no small amount of teasing, “ _ We _ can handle the templars. But we could do with getting Daisy here up to the chantry tower where your lover boy is. I still think we should follow through with Hawke’s plan.”

 

“The… blood magic,” Fenris eyed Merrill with open mistrust.

 

The dwarf inhaled to respond but the frenzied mob comprised of understandably incensed citizens rushed forward again. This time the rush swept them up into it and carried them towards the chantry steps, Fenris had no choice but to move with it or be trampled beneath it.

 

“Hawke’s plan?” Varric’s voice called from somewhere nearby but hidden by the sea of bodies.

 

It rankled deeply in Fenris to stomach such a plan in which he helped blood magic be used but they were out of time to consider any other options. “Hawke’s plan,” Fenris begrudgingly called back. His plan had been too reliant on brute strength, being that he figured he could simply carve his way through the templars until he put Meredith down himself. 

 

Far above the city streets Isabela crowed in delight at the turn of the crowd’s favour, watching with wide eyes as people clad in only cloth and roughspun linen bowled down the templars in their full plate through sheer numbers. “Reinforcements!” She called back over her shoulder.

 

Aveline drew level with the balcony edge curiously, Sebastian and Anders following her. “What?” She breathed out in surprise. The annulment carried out years before that had been so brutal as to have caused the three of them to be made into statues hadn’t earned this much backlash. Admittedly, it had been almost done before anything could be done in protest but still, it stirred pride in Aveline’s chest to see Kirkwall so vehement against their tyrant. She squinted down at a flicker of white in the crowd, the shock of hair so distinctive and still heartwarming. “Isn’t that-”

 

“Fenris,” Anders interrupted, sighing Fenris’ name like a lovesick fool as he watched the elf knock a templar to the floor with one solid punch. No help from his brands or even the sword on his back, just strength. The mage’s face pulled into a helpless, small smile until he realised his guardians were watching him with varying degrees of smug, knowing looks. “What?” He demanded, “Don’t look at me like that!” He crossed his arms before noticing the group of templars who were trying a different tactic than battering down the chantry door. “Look! They’re using ladders and ropes! Knock them down!”

 

“Big girl?” Isabela asked it as though she were asking a much heavier question, one which Aveline nodded to.

 

Aveline on her heel with a muttered, “I suppose we have no choice,” which had Anders cocking his head in confusion until Aveline tore up one of the floorboards. From beneath it she pulled a long bundle, clinking promisingly as she unrolled the canvas. Out rolled a longsword, two viciously curved daggers, and a bow and quiver. With surprise, Anders watched his guardians move to the weapons with familiarity as Isabela took the daggers, Sebastian the bow and quiver, and Aveline the sword. Reaching back beneath the floorboards Aveline negotiated a very large shield from the small space. 

 

“Orsino made sure we had them,” Sebastian explained to Anders’ confused face, “In case we ever had need.” 

 

Isabela grinned, “And it appears we have need.” 

 

That Anders was looking at his guardians in a whole new light fell to the wayside as they made to the balcony edge to fight off their attackers. There would be time, Anders hoped, to reassess his worldview later. And if there wasn’t then he would be dead so what did it matter? It was perhaps a maudlin view but Anders felt more alive than he had ever felt before, save perhaps the blissful moment when Fenris had kissed him and there hadn’t been a thought in his mind beyond ‘oh, so that’s what this feels like’. 

 

Fire, it turned out, was as easy for Anders to conjure as breathing. It felt warm and comforting in his hand. He felt in control, despite the giddy sick feeling in his belly at his using magic without permission. The scars on his back burned in memories of years of punishment but Anders knew different now- he  _ was _ different now. He was strong and loved and he would not stand by as Meredith destroyed the city- destroyed  _ Hawke _ \- for no more reason than her fear. 

 

It also made a satisfying noise when it collided in a ball of crackling flame against the helm of a templar. Almost as satisfying as the noise of them, and the templars under them, being knocked from the ladder. It sounded like victory, Anders thought as Isabela clapped his shoulder in celebration. 

 

They might actually survive this.

 

At the entryway Meredith’s men were splintering the thick oak of the chantry door. Fenris could hear the protesting groan and crack of wood as it buckled under the onslaught but he was still not close enough to do anything about it. They still had to get Merrill to the top of the chantry as well, and standing by Carver it had seemed they would manage it but the templars were endless. Fenris wondered if they were all templars or perhaps some were guardsmen he had led. Meredith had all but claimed the city guard outright, and it would explain the bolstered numbers, but the idea that Fenris was carving down men and women he had been responsible for made him ill. It struck just a little too close to reminding him of the Fog Warriors, but there was no Danarius and there were no pleas being hurled at him. They were fighting equally, if not in equal number. 

 

Fenris hurled a templar away when their blades clashed, staggering the man back three steps and as he reeled in surprise Fenris swung his sword out for the man’s head. It clanged hard off the man’s helm but knocked him to the floor and it was then that Fenris noted the tethered horse-  _ his _ horse- they had made their way to. 

 

He smirked, “Pavali,” He pointed at the man sprawled by her back legs, “Sit.”

 

Pavali obeyed, a very elegant swish of her tail before she planted her hind firmly on the fallen templar’s chest. It made Fenris quirk a smile before stepping on with renewed focus. He would make sure to give her the nicest apple he could find after this, but first he had to make it through this.

 

He turned and caught Merrill’s eye, “I’m going to rush the door and you have to stay with me, okay?”

 

“We’re all coming!” Carver insisted.

 

Fenris turned to snarl at him, “Then keep up, I only need to get the witch upstairs so that is what I am going to focus on. Do not slow us down.”

 

“Bastard,” The younger Hawke bit back.

 

Cheerfully, Varric chimed in, “Maybe I should call you Grouchy, not Broody?”

 

Fenris made a disgusted noise but he had the wide eyed nod he needed from Merrill and that was enough to surge back into the battle. It was bloody work and they were better armed than most of the citizens, but the citizens had numbers. From the chantry top, lower down than the tower proper, Fenris could see arrows and fireballs being hurled down to the templars making a brave attempt to scale the chantry walls. The fireballs had to be Anders’ doing. Hawke had been in no fit state when Fenris saw her last in Anders’ arms. As unsettled as magic made him it was oddly impressive to see Anders using his magic so freely. Besides, he had a blood mage at his back so Fenris supposed there were concessions to be made in light of the situation.

 

Fenris could feel his feet sticky with blood on the cobbled street, filthy and tacky with each step he took relentlessly towards the chantry door. Merrill stayed close with Carver and Varric close at her sides but it was Fenris leading them. His eyes were fixed on the chantry door.

 

The templars had broken it down but not be much, just wide enough for one body to slip through at a time. A well aimed fireball saw to it that Meredith was alone when she made for the gap, however. Better still, Fenris thought, would it have been to watch Meredith burn but she was well enough when she disappeared beyond the broken chantry door. It spurred Fenris into moving faster, his brands lighting and turning him into an unstoppable force- a weapon. 

  
It didn’t matter now, the power was his to wield. Not Danarius’ or anyone else’s. He was free and he wanted to do this, he would see Meredith pay for her actions. And he would get to Anders before she could lay a hand on him ever again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireballs, ice walls, blizzards, incendiary storms; Anders was a font of power and it was as astounding as it was terrifying. This was why mages were feared, Anders thought, this was why Meredith locked me away.

“We’re doing this!” Anders was breathless in his excitement as he pulled back his arm and hurled another fireball down to the templars below. The city was burning but Kirkwall’s citizens were done being idle- largely in part to Fenris’ stirring speech spurring them into action- and it enflamed Justice to see. Anders only had so much magic that he had been permitted to learn under Meredith’s command, and most of it restricted to healing magic, but Justice poured power from the fade into Anders and it flowed as naturally as breathing from his fingertips. Fireballs, ice walls, blizzards, incendiary storms; Anders was a font of power and it was as astounding as it was terrifying. This was why mages were feared, Anders thought, this was why Meredith locked me away. 

 

A templar fell to an arrow in his eye, a cleverly aimed shot with pinpoint precision through the visor slit of his helm at a distance enough that Anders wasn’t able to actually make out details. The templars were like ants at the base of the chantry, all Anders could do was aim where the glinting armour was thickest and hope that the citizens finished off the others but Sebastian… Sebastian had no such problems. That was awfully scary too, Anders thought. Isabela wasn’t being idle either, snatching from Anders’ herb plants haphazardly and throwing in reagents Anders knew would produce no good outcomes. It didn’t seem like she was making a poultice, however. 

 

Isabela jammed the mixture into a glass vial, topping the mixture with oil and feeding a rag into the vial that she lit. A satisfied smile overtook her face, admiring the item in her hands a moment before turning to the balcony.

 

Aveline raised one stone eyebrow at the pirate, “Isabela, what did you-”

 

Winding back her arm Isabela hurled the object with no less precision than Sebastian fired his arrows. Anders craned his head over the lip of the balcony to watch as it hurtled towards the ground and shattered in every direction. The glass was of no consequence but the mixture inside, a paste now viscous with the oil Isabela had added, splattered every templar in it’s radius. The lit rag, however, meant it did not sit for very long.

 

In a blaze of flame like a match to dry grass the templars caught fire. The combustible mixture seeped into the gaps in their armour and Anders watched them burn in agony, far slower and far more devastating than his fireballs had managed. Looking to Isabela, Anders was startled to see her wink as though he had been let in on a secret- and maybe he had. He wasn’t the only one capable of terrifying firepower. Aveline cocked her head, as close to admitting she was impressed as she ever would where Isabela was concerned, and turned to the pirate with a curious look. “Can I have one of those?”

 

“Atta girl,” Isabela praised, whirling back towards Anders’ herbs with Aveline watching her every move. It made Anders feel like they might have a chance with Aveline and Isabela miraculously working together like that.

 

\---

 

The chantry proper was empty of any brothers or sisters, the chaos outside chasing them to the safety of the back rooms where they might cower and wait out the storm, Meredith assumed. Such was the way as the weak willed shirked any of the hard work born of the task the Maker gave to them and instead left it to Meredith and her templars to ensure His will was carried out. It was not a task that Meredith would shy from like Elthina and her fainthearted rabble. 

 

Meredith marched towards the tucked away staircase leading to the upper tower but she saw she was not alone. Orsino stepped out before her, a body barring her way with nought but his robe and his judgemental glare to halt her at all. As though he had any right to judge her. Her actions were spurred by the Maker’s will, there was no one to judge her but He, and His silence at her successes only proved her right. She would not be stopped by a mage of all things. 

 

“Stand aside!” Meredith barked.

 

Orsino’s glare only grew bolder as he bared his teeth and snarled, “Have you gone mad once again, Meredith? Was one slaughter not enough for you?”

 

“Mad?” Meredith spat the word, “What I do is at the Maker’s command, Orsino. I wouldn’t expect a mage to understand that- willfully ignorant of your own danger as you are! Do not think I forget what you are:  _ blood mage _ .”

 

Orsino grit his teeth at the spat words. He knew what he was, but he knew what Meredith was and as far as he saw it the blood on her hands far outweighed any on his. “Kirkwall burns because of  _ you _ ! Its people revolt against your templars because of _ you _ ! That mage girl- Hawke, Anders, none of them did this! You see enemies where there are none, paint targets on the backs of innocents to assure your own hatred and we stand once again in the chantry as your madness takes you.” Orsino was shaking, his hands rigidly gripped into fists as he squared himself. He only had words, not even a simple staff at his back, to face her and Meredith could not be moved by words from a mage but he could not crumple under the weight of her control again. He wouldn’t stand aside as she destroyed everything in the hope that he might be spared a second time.

 

She sneered at him and for a moment Orsino swore her eyes flared red with an unnatural glow. Her madness had to be stirring him to see things, panting her a true monster in his eyes that couldn’t be true. Monster she was, but a mortal one. “ _ Once again _ I stand in the chantry to do as the Maker would in my place. I have unfinished business with the abomination. Stand aside,” Meredith repeated the order.

 

“You will not harm him, and you cannot kill me. Not if you want your blood magic to hold.”

 

Snatching Orsino by his collar Meredith lifted him and hurled him to the floor, as easy as lifting a child. “I spared them death as a kindness, but I can rectify that. Do not think yourself so important to me as to be indispensible,” her face split into a wide, toothy grin that threatened to swallow Orsino whole, “But I do not need to kill you, Orsino. You were left toothless and weak long ago,” She mocked, stepping past his prone form and taking the stairs two at a time.

 

Orsino gasped to catch the breath that had been forced from him on his impact with the polished stone floor, relieved at the fading clunk of Meredith’s footfalls, but suddenly he found the hefty point of a broadsword tip too close to his face for comfort. The two-handed blade did not belong to Meredith, however. Following the line of glinting steel upwards, Orsino found himself staring at a white haired elf clad all in black, his pauldrons tipped with elegant if vicious looking spikes. The previous Guard Captain, eyes blazing with fury, stood over him ready to attack.

 

And he was not alone.

 

A dwarf, lacking a beard but making up for it in abundant chest hair, swung his crossbow to rest up and on his shoulder- the very picture of relaxed calm and utterly in opposition to the tightly wound rage of the elf beside him. “My friend here doesn’t take kindly to blood magic, pal, and we’re in sort of a hurry so you’re going to do me a favour and give me the short version of what it is you did for Meredith.”

 

Orsino scowled at the sword aimed at him, cursing that they had heard. He was well aware of Fenris’ aversion to blood magic despite it’s usefulness as easily abused as any blade. “It is not a pleasant story.”

 

The dwarf sighed and gave a theatrical, knowing look to the sour faced human who bore a striking resemblance to Hawke towering behind him. “They never are,” the dwarf sighed, but the human did not respond. 

 

“Varric, we’re in a hurry,” Fenris snapped.

 

Varric rolled his eyes, “Yeah, to undo an evil blood magic curse and set the fair mage Anders free from his tower, but to do that we need to not mess it up by ignoring the very obvious clue that the blood magic curse we’re undoing was probably done by this guy right here,” the dwarf grinned proudly, “Am I right, or am I right?”

 

Orsino blinked at the question, fumbling for a moment before he nodded, “... you’re right. But it doesn’t matter, not any more.” None of it did. He had already helped Meredith cover up what had been done, long past the time where any of this madness could be prevented.

 

Another elf who Orsino hadn’t noticed behind the very scowly human spoke up suddenly, her bright eyes flicking between Orsino and Fenris warily, “Actually, it really does! It will be much easier to undo the magic if you can tell me what it was you did so I don’t accidentally turn them into something else, or hurt them, or make it worse, or… oh, I think that got away from me a bit. Did that make sense?”

 

“Crystal clear to me, Daisy. Fenris?” Varric gestured with the roll of one wrist to Orsino, “I think we’ll be needing him.” 

 

Even though he was looking at Orsino, the comment was aimed at Fenris who ground his teeth in answer. A wordless snarl that did not at all sound reassuring left him, but he lowered his sword which Orsino took to mean he agreed despite the snarling. Swallowing hard, Orsino spoke up as he rose to his feet, “I-I cannot help you. Meredith would kill me.”

 

“If you do not help us,  _ I _ will kill you,” Fenris snapped and Orsino didn’t doubt it.

 

“Ah… well then,” Orsino sighed, “She’s going to find Anders.” He had no wish to die, but he had no real hope they could stop Meredith. They outnumbered her, certainly, but something about her had seemed… off.

 

Fenris offered no more conversation at that, shoving past the mage and taking the stairs with as much determination as Meredith had. Varric clapped Orsino’s arm cheerily, murmuring ‘good man’ before following suit. The other elf followed him and Orsino took the glaring human to be waiting for him to move, so Orsino followed after her without a word. 

 

\---

 

“Would you look at that,” Sebastian murmured in surprise, lowering his bow a moment to squint at crowd below them.

 

Anders, fearing more bad news to add to the already precarious conflict, peered over Sebastian’s stone shoulder, “What is it?”

 

“A templar. But this one looks to be reasoning with some of them to stand down,” The archer cocked his head at the sight, Anders doing likewise in open surprise.

 

Sebastian was not wrong either. There was a figure in scorched silverite armour and templar purple cloth, the etched flaming sword clear on his breastplate but his helmet gone. He had a head of curled blonde hair and was shouting to the templars, sword raised. He wasn’t leading the charge however, not as the templars who heard him lowered their weapons. “That’s… that’s Meredith’s favourite, isn’t it?”

 

“It’s a ‘C’, I know it is,” Isabela hummed, “The right kind of chantry wound good boy that promises a fun night if you can negotiate the stick firmly lodged up his arse.”

 

Aveline sighed, “You can’t remember his name but you can tell me what he’s like in bed?”

 

“I only remember the important things, man-hands.”

 

Anders ignored them both, “He’s getting them to stand down! Look!” The fighting was halting, rippling out from where the Knight-Captain stood shouting orders to them. Templar and citizen alike were looking to him and listening, but Meredith was nowhere to be seen. The Knight-Captain’s word was compelling them to stop but none looked to be readying another assault on the chantry. “We’ve done it,” Anders breathed out, stunned into reeling back from the balcony edge, “We’ve done it!” He spread his hands wide and span in a circle before curling over, hands braced on his knees, and sucking in breath as though he hadn’t been breathing since this madness began. It certainly felt like it, Anders thought as he laughed and Isabela swept him up in a hug. Her cold, stone-rough lips pressed to his cheek and Sebastian didn’t resist when Isabela pulled him into the hug as well. 

 

“Get over here, man-hands,” Isabela demanded. 

 

Reluctantly, but still smiling, Aveline shook her head at them and crossed her arms. “Make me, slattern.” 

 

As their bickering broke out, Anders left Sebastian to supervise. The archer gave him a knowing look, however, as Anders slipped away. He knew where Anders was going. He nodded his head to Anders and the mage dashed away through the door to the balcony bridging the two chantry towers. Hawke deserved to see this. The only thing that could possible have brightened Anders’ elation, Sebastian considered, was if Fenris had been there.

 

\---

 

As Sebastian settled into enjoying their victory in a quieter manner, and less ladened with affectionate insults as his two companions, the door creaked open. Not the one Anders had left through, however, and he’d only just left to have returned so soon but it was the door below- the one leading up to the tower. The footsteps on the old wooden stairs up were heavier and more numerous. Isabela and Aveline had fallen silent, taking up their weapons as Sebastian drew his bow.

 

They had seen the standstill in the square below but that didn’t mean that a few templars couldn’t have stolen away into the chantry with intentions of killing Anders and taking back Hawke. They were not going to let that happen and by the time the invaders made it to the candlelight of the upper floor, they were faced with an immovable wall of stone, blades, and arrows.

 

Isabela blinked, “Varric?!”

 

“Whew, whoa there, yeah, it’s me!” Varric held up his arms in alarm, standing beside Fenris on the stairs and grinning at the pirate, “Wanna put down the daggers, Rivaini?”

 

“Fenris,” Sebastian murmured, lowering his bow, “Carver, Merrill, what’s going- Orsino!”

 

Immediately, the statues who had lowered their guards in the wake of friendly faces were raising them again but all three were pointed firmly at the mage doing his best to move back towards the stairs.

 

“Something tells me that ‘not pleasant story’ is awfully interesting,” Varric muttered to Orsino before raising his hands again, urging the statues to lower their weapons, “He’s with us. He did this to you, right? Well, he’s gonna undo it, isn’t that right?”

 

“I-I… yes,” Orsino swallowed hard but stood straighter.

 

Aveline bared her teeth as she snapped, “Why would we ever believe that? I remember- gah!” Her speech was cut off as her jaw snapped suddenly closed with a grinding of stone before she could part her teeth again and glare at Orsino.

 

“That… would that be part of the blood magic thing?” Varric mused, rubbing a finger down his jaw as Aveline nodded, clearly seething at the control over her that she couldn’t fight.

 

“Why should we believe you want to help us now?!” Sebastian demanded.

 

“Quiet, all of you!” Fenris barked, “Believe him because I say so, I will remove his head from his shoulders if he makes to harm any of us and I am faster than any of you. We do not have time to argue over this!”

 

“What do you mean we don’t have time? We won!” Isabela frowned at the elven warrior.

 

Varric shook his head, “We were tailing Meredith but we lost her somewhere. There were two paths on the way but Fenris promised he’d get us to you guys so we could do Merrill’s little blood magic undo spell.”

 

Sebastian turned to Fenris, “I thought you didn’t like blood magic?”

 

“It was Hawke’s plan and it is the only one we have,” Fenris growled. He still didn’t like the plan but if it worked and they gained three more fighters more useful than stone which Fenris was fairly sure one broad sword stroke could shatter, then it wouldn’t be a loss. He had seen Meredith fight and they might have need of more able bodied fighters. And a healer, when all was said and done. Frowning, Fenris looked around. He’d noticed Anders’ absence the moment they’d topped the stairs but he’d told himself the mage was simply out of sight. He’d have come to the commotion by now if it were true. “Where is the mage?” Looking around, it didn’t seem like Anders was hiding or simply out of sight. Urgency gripped Fenris and he began to move around the loft space, looking for Anders.

 

“ _ Anders _ ,” Isabela emphasised, “A-N-D-E-R-S, it’s really not very hard.” 

 

“He went to check on Hawke,” Sebastian answered Fenris instead, ignoring Isabela, “He hid her in a storage room of the other tower.” Fenris turned to leave immediately and Sebastian caught his arm, cold, solid fingers wrapping around Fenris’ upper arm around the thin straps of leather to hold him fast. “You said you would kill him,” Sebastian shot a glare to Orsino, “if he tried anything.”

 

“Release me. Didn’t you hear me, Meredith is here somewhere and if she is not here, then Anders and Hawke are in danger. Do the blood magic or do not- I do not care! I will find them by myself!” Fenris hadn’t meant to promise anything to these people, certainly not to supervise their dabbling in wretched blood magic, but how they could waste time when their own charge was in danger was beyond Fenris. 

 

He made to wrench his arm free, but it Sebastian’s stone grip held him tight. Flaring his brands, Fenris phased through the hand and made for the door Sebastian had indicated Anders had left through. The silence hung in the loft for a moment after the door slammed behind him.

 

“I guess that means we’re doing this then,” Aveline surmised with a grim look. 

 

Sebastian sighed, “We cannae help like this.”

 

“You were doing a lot of damage ‘like that’ just fine,” Varric pointed out. It might have been partially his idea in his aiding Hawke come up with this whole plan but he wasn’t exactly in favour of messing around with blood magic- nor was he especially opposed if it wasn’t to do with him. Varric gave Orsino an appraising look, uncertain if he fully trusted the mage yet.

 

Orsino sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and explaining, “No, he means they literally cannot. It’s part of the spell.” He knew the nicest opinion of him in the room was distrust so if he was throwing his lot in with them then he would try to help.

 

Isabela frowned at Orsino but spoke to Sebastian, “You think this will even work?”

 

With a wry smile, Sebastian reached up and slid his arrow back into the quiver. “Have a little faith, Isabela,” His smile widened at her twisting up her mouth at the suggestion, “The Maker works in mysterious ways.”

 

Groaning in resignation, Isabela lowered her daggers and muttered, “I am going to have so much sex if we get out of this.”

 

“If this works, I am going to throw you into the harbour,” Aveline promised.

 

“That’s your cue, Daisy!” Varric turned to gesture Merrill closer with a reassuring smile.

 

Carver took the moment to rest his hand gently on the elf’s back, nodding to her. “You can do this,” He murmured. 

 

Merrill smiled brightly at the statues. “I’ve never done this before- obviously, but it can’t be too hard, right? With Orsino’s help it should be rather straightforward.” She leaned in to add, “Though once I start can you keep very still? It’s sometimes very difficult to keep track of things like limbs and with three of you… I’m sure it’ll be fine!” She unsheathed a dagger from her belt and smiled wider as she opened her palm with the blade.

 

The guardians blinked at the elf in open wariness. Aveline groaned, “We’re going to die.”

 

\---

 

They’d done it! They’d beaten Meredith! A feat that Anders had been so sure was impossible!

 

**Justice has been done.**

 

_ Hawke will be so happy! _

 

**Her tormentor has been defeated, I imagine so.**

 

Justice’s dry comment didn’t dampen Anders’ mood as he ran for the storage room he had stashed Hawke. It had made sense at the time, so sure as Anders was that they wouldn’t win. Keeping her safely tucked somewhere out of the way would have given her a shot at escaping if the worst had come to pass- but it hadn’t! Each step felt like Anders was racing on air, the stone solid but distant under his feet. 

 

He wrenched open the door handle of the storage room and burst into the room with a joyous flourish as he cried, “We’ve done it, Hawke! We’ve beaten them back! Come on, Hawke, you have to see this!” Anders paused as he waited for her to leap up from the bed and rush to him excitedly, but she remained exactly where she was.

 

Still, and silent. 

 

Something cold and thick lodged itself in Anders’ throat as he moved further into the room. “Hawke, wake up…” It sounded pleading and desperate, Anders swallowed it down and tried again, “You’re safe now. Hawke?”

 

Hawke’s face was slack and she did not stir as Anders ran his fingers against her face, almost afraid to touch her. Pushing his fingers into her hair a little harder than he might have dared otherwise, Anders snatched himself back in alarm. Hawke didn’t move. Panic overtook everything else and Anders couldn’t stop himself from trembling even as he thought to reach for magic. All the fighting, all the rebelling, and what had it been good for, if not for Hawke? She had been the only person to show him kindness in so long, the only person whose words he had listened to beyond Meredith’s. He’d been half convinced his Guardians were a figment of his imagination until Hawke had seen them too; Hawke was his friend! He’d thought he loved her. She was his friend, he’d been so set on that. He’d wanted to push away what had happened with Fenris over it even as it had hurt so much to do it. Anders wanted them to be happy, he wanted Hawke to be happy, but that meant getting up from that bench and not lying there like she was… like she was…

 

**Anders…**

 

“Shut up! Shut up, no, no, no!” Anders gasped aloud, “No, I can… I can fix this…”

 

Raising his hands and snatching at the healing magic he’d so long shied away from, Anders held his hands over Hawke. He let all of his magic pour into his hands, the gentle blue-white glow washing over her in healing waves as he pushed his magic into her, healing her. Was he healing her? Was there even anything left to heal? The magic suffused into her but Anders couldn’t feel it pulling his attention anywhere. There wasn’t anything to heal.

 

Hawke wasn’t waking up. 

 

The smoke, Anders thought, maybe it had clogged her lungs. He couldn’t heal that directly, he’d need to clear it. He moved his hands to over her chest, pushing and flowing the magic as best he could. His hands were shaking hard, now. Anders blinked rapidly as his eyes misted over. No! He had to concentrate! Magebane? The templars would have given her magebane, right? That could be blocking him. There had to be something he could… anything, he had to try…

 

“Hawke, please…” Anders knelt down beside the bench Hawke lay across, resting his head on his hands and shuddering through a sob, “Please, you can’t… you were the first person to... “ Her fingers were cold under his own, clasping them tight in his as though he could warm her and make her move. Anders’ mind burned with a thousand fractured thoughts, disjointed and desperate. He’d studied healing in books all his life, desperate to forge some good from his magic, and he’d been good at it only to have it be of no use when he really needed it. This wasn’t fair! They’d come so far and all for this? What Justice was this?

 

Shaking with his sobs Anders curled over the edge of the bench. He could hear the door open behind him but it felt far away, and it carried little import to process that there was someone else there. But he knew the creak of that armour, the clinking the plates with each step. Those sounds had been seared into his memory from a very young age and that noise breached his grief. It didn’t surprise him that Meredith had come, but something cold and fractured in his chest held him up where he might have cowered before her. They had still beaten her, even if it had all been for nothing. Anders was shocked to find he was not afraid of her, not any more. The cold despair in his chest was hatred, jagged and barbed and all for Meredith. 

 

A hand rested on Anders’ shoulder and the mage cast accusing eyes to his mistress, “You killed her,” He whispered with the bite of his hate. 

 

Meredith sighed, and for a moment, Anders thought he saw something that looked like understanding. As though Meredith might have regretted her actions. “It was my duty,” She said softly. Meredith trailed off as she looked at Hawke, peaceful in her stillness but so unlike how Hawke was normally. Usually so vibrant and never sitting still, it hurt Anders to even look at her. “I hope you can forgive me,” Meredith added softly.

 

The hatred was heavy in Anders’ chest, and born of his grief as it was Anders didn’t know what to do in the face of Meredith’s apparent regret. He’d braced himself for gloating and mocking, but this? Meredith wasn’t supposed to be melancholic when faced with what she had done, Anders couldn’t push the grief into hate when she did that. It crumpled him inwards and he clasped his hand tighter around Hawke’s.

 

“There, there, Anders. I know it hurts,” Meredith murmured, as gentle as Anders had ever heard her. He was grateful for that. Even if it was Meredith, she had been the only kindness he had known for so long and Anders couldn’t help listening to the softness in her voice. His eyes drifted closed at first, slowly blinking open as his grief swallowed him, “The time has come to end that suffering,” Meredith continued and as Ander’s eyes opened he saw the shadow Meredith’s silhouette cast against the wall. Framed in the fire of Kirkwall burning below them, Anders saw her raised arm- saw the dagger. “Forever.”

 

Anders made the decision to turn, but it was Justice who caught Meredith’s arm at her wrist as she swung the dagger down. His skin cracked in blue fadelight as Anders rose from his knelt position to throw Meredith back against the wall. Twisting the wrist he had clasped, the dagger fell free from Meredith's hand and Anders took it up with a snarl. Meredith slid down amidst the dusty, discarded boxes as Fenris appeared in the doorway to the room. Anders’ entire world had narrowed down to the woman who had raised him, the woman who had fed him lie after lie his entire life, who had raised him to believe he was a monster.

 

He raised the dagger. Meredith flung up an arm, “Wait, listen to me, Anders-”

 

“ _ You _ listen to me!” Anders voice roared with the terrifying echo of the fade, ethereal and unknown in each syllable. The words were his own, but the power behind them was Justice’s. “All my life you have told me that mages are feared and hated by everyone! That no one could ever show a wretched mage like me kindness! But now I see all of your lies! The only one full of hate and fear is you! You are terrified of mages and you use that to destroy us! Anyone can be a monster, Meredith, but I am nothing at all like the monster you are!” Raising the dagger higher Anders seethed. For a moment he stood on the edge of a decision, one that Fenris held his breath in wait of.

 

For a moment, Fenris considered if it was he and Danarius he was facing. He wondered if he would have the same frozen moment, and he knew he would not. Anders’ face contorted in rage but the dagger wavered. Justice bid that her death was just but Anders knew Meredith to be the monster, not himself, and he would not become it. He tossed aside the dagger. He was no monster, he knew that now. She couldn’t hurt him any more.

 

“Everyone will learn of what you have done,” Anders swore vehemently.

 

Fenris moved into the room fast, catching Anders as his rage sputtered out and his knees wobbled. The fade light in his skin flickered and closed, his blazing blue eyes turned half lidded and brown as they made out Fenris in his vision. 

 

“Fenris, you… you’re here,” Anders breathed out, a dazed smile pulling at his mouth.

 

“Mage, I…” Fenris narrowed his eyes at Meredith on the floor. He could respect Anders decision for the moment even if he could not say that he would have done the same in his place, but if Meredith so much as twitched he would remove her heart gladly. Anders’ fingers pressed into Fenris’ back where the mage held him with wide, spread palms. His hold was the more firm one as Fenris tried to keep the clawed tips of his gauntlets from doing Anders any harm. “You’re safe,” Fenris promised.

 

Meredith scoffed, “You have fallen for a  _ mage _ , Fenris? They are not capable of real love, you know that most of all, or have you forgotten what you are?”

 

“Fenris is no slave!” Anders surprised himself as he shouted, the rage all his own even if Justice echoed it with righteous agreement. Fenris looked surprised but they didn’t have time to dwell on it when a weak, raspy croak drew them all to look to the bench.

 

“Anders…?” Anders gaped, going taut with awe as Hawke, previously lying frighteningly still, reached out her hand towards them. Her eyes were slitted open, creased it distress, but she was alive and that was all that mattered. Ashen faced, worn, but  _ alive _ .

 

“Hawke!” Anders breathed out in relief.

 

Meredith stiffened on the ground, her stance moving to one knee as she gripped her sword and made to unsheathe it. “She lives!”

 

Fenris could not move to take his sword with Anders held in his arms. He planned to push Anders behind him and attack- his brands and his hand would be enough- but Anders was faster. “No!” Roared the mage, his hand flying out as flames leapt from his fingertips. The blast drove Meredith to leap back to escape it, letting Anders turn and throw up a barrier around Hawke as fissures of blue fade light broke out across his skin. Hawke pressed a palm to the barrier’s surface but she didn’t look able to stand easily. The barrier would hold as long as Anders could keep it, Fenris knew that. 

 

An enraged cry left Meredith’s mouth as she regained her footing and raised her sword, swinging it down as she lunged forward towards Anders. Anders turned back to face her and caught sight of the arc of her blade too late to do anything about it, but Fenris hadn’t. In a flash of white-blue light Fenris was there between them, broadsword drawn to catch the strike with a grinding protest of metal. Meredith snarled over their crossed blades at Fenris but the elf did not even flinch at her ire, holding his ground as easily as if she were a child before using his sword to propel her backwards. He hurled her staggering through the open door he had left, teeth bared and seething as he spat, “You will not have him!”

 

Fenris stalked after her through the door, Anders casting a glance back at Hawke to check she was safe before following. On the rooftop balcony between the towers of the chantry, Meredith and Fenris faced each other- ready. Anders sent a flare of magic to Fenris, bolstering Fenris’ energy and aiding him as best he could. Fenris didn’t dare take his eyes off Meredith but he appreciated it just the same, even as the warm tingle of magic moved over his brands. It had yet to feel the way Danarius’ magic had and he doubted it ever would. 

 

Meredith was the first to move, but Fenris did not falter the moment he saw her lunge. He matched her and the air rang with the clash of their swords again, Anders moving to follow at a distance as they shoved and pushed their blades at each other. The metal grated together and Fenris’ brands lit as he faded from in front of Meredith. She faltered forward a step in surprise, but caught herself in time to whirl around and draw up her sword to block Fenris at her back. 

 

“Fighting for a mage, Fenris?” Meredith sneered, “I see you are still wearing your chains.”

 

“I _ choose _ to protect him,” Fenris insisted. It bolstered him to say it, to know it was his choice to do this- to stand and defend Anders and Kirkwall and know that it was his choice to make. 

 

“Wearing your master’s armour, having lost everything you built since running away? And for what- an abomination?” Her words dripped like poison, prodding at all of Fenris’ fears and twisting his thoughts. He did not look back to where Anders stood, hesitant to throw offensive magic with them stood so close, but his healing magic still prickling it’s barrier along his skin. Still, her words got to him. “No, I do not think the choice is yours,” She added, “ _ Slave _ .”

 

An arrow grazed past Meredith’s cheek as Fenris and her fought for ground, shoving ineffectually with their blades, but Fenris saw the archer in time to lurch aside before it could strike him. Sebastian was seething at Meredith’s words and his arrow would have hit it’s mark had her words not also urged Fenris to grapple with her again. 

 

The blood magic ritual had worked, then, Fenris surmised. Where once there had been only stone, Sebastian stood in white chantry brother robes and already reaching for another arrow. His pushed back hair was a chestnut brown colour, his narrowed eyes a fierce blue, features that had been lost to his curse. Now, he stood free and unfaltering in his revenge on Meredith. Aveline moved past him, a bulwark of armour and shield with burnished red hair and freckles Fenris could never had guessed the stern woman would have. Isabela drew her daggers with expert ease, slipping past Sebastian’s other side with a devilish smirk and a wealth of dark skin on display that the stone hadn’t made quite as apparent. They had gained three clearly capable warriors after all and Fenris’ shaken resolve tightened once more. He was not fighting for Anders, he was fighting with all of these people- all of Kirkwall- to stop a tyrant. That was his choice.

 

“I am no slave!” Fenris roared, fixed on Meredith even as the others spilled out of the other tower door to aid him. 

 

Anders gaped openly at his guardians- made flesh once more they stood, weapons raised. Meredith was their focus, not even Isabela sparing a moment to exchange words with Anders. He’d heard them bitterly speak of Meredith in roundabout ways, bound by the blood magic trapping them in stone to be unable to explain why they hated, why they had been cursed to stone. Now, however, they were free and their hate burned bright. 

 

Sebastian knocked another arrow to his bow, drawing it taut as he squared off at range like Anders was. Aveline moved to Fenris’ side, her shield and sword making her like a wall to Fenris’ brute strength. Isabela gripped her daggers, staying back for the right moment. Something in the sharpness of her gaze made Anders wary. Of the three of them it was more unlike her to be so… cold, but then decades cursed to isolation and a cage would harden anyone. They were focused now on taking their revenge. Hawke’s companions- Carver, Varric, and Merrill- were no less determined but they lacked the viciously personal edge that Anders’ guardians had. 

  
Carver took up a spot at Aveline’s side, both he and Fenris heaving their two handed swords with Aveline between them ready to throw her shield up as needed. Varric’s crossbow was primed and ready, Merrill’s staff held out and her hand raised. They were committed to this fight and Anders was very glad he wasn’t the one facing them as they made their stand against Meredith.

 

To Anders’ surprise he spotted Orsino by the tower door. The older mage made no move to join them in the fray but Anders could appreciate the elf’s own want to see Meredith fall. Though for someone facing such a staggeringly outnumbered force, Meredith only smirked. Holding her sword aloft the length of the blade crackled with red light and in a rush, as though it were pulling the air from his lungs, Anders felt Justice reel back in horror. 

 

**The song! The song is wrong! No! It is** **_wrong_ ** **!**

 

_ Justice?! What’s going on? _

 

“She’s got red lyrium!” Varric roared over the rushing of air.

 

“How?!” Carver demanded, unmoved.

 

Varric grit his teeth, “Good question, Junior. Why don’t you ask her?”

 

“What’s-” Sebastian began.

 

“I’ll tell you later, Choir Boy; it’s a good story.”

 

Anders wasn’t sure it could be with how Justice was raging within him, so appalled at the presence of the unfamiliar ‘red lyrium’ as it engulfed not only Meredith’s sword, but her as well. It spread down her arm first, cracking her skin in fissures not unlike the ones Anders’ bore, but where his bled the white-blue of the fade, hers were nothing but red. It twisted her face into a euphoric grin as her eyes were swallowed in the same red glow until she was utterly consumed by it. 

 

All at once, the ground began to shake. Around them the statues decorating the chantry’s sides lurched and groaned. They rose from their perches, stone limbs carrying them like puppets to Meredith’s aid. A flash of smoke and Isabela leapt from the shadows, her daggers raised to drive into Meredith’s back, but Meredith hurled her away like a bothersome insect. Anders cried out in alarm as Isabela crunched into the wall of the tower and slumped. The action signalled the others to attack as Fenris flung himself forward, Carver and Aveline following him. Varric and Sebastian loosed their arrows and bolts, Merrill creating roots to wind around the statue’s feet to slow them. Flinging out his arm, Anders’ healing magic swallowed Isabela up until Anders saw her chest heave for breath. Shakily, she rose again and dove into the fray of statues Meredith had pulled to her aid.

 

With so many of them fighting, Anders tried to focus on keeping them shielded and hurling healing magic where he could. He knit together cuts and slices from the stone blades the statues of templars and even Andraste herself managed to land against them. He had little time to wonder at the stone figures fighting at the behest of the red lyrium crackling along Meredith’s body, aside from feeling the fear it prickled within him at Justice’s clear revulsion. 

 

Fenris refused to let up in his assault against Meredith, even as she knocked away his attacks effortlessly. Whatever the red lyrium had done it had bolstered her in a way his own lyrium did not do- his strength was his own, the ability to shift between Thedas and the fade to move was the lyrium’s. It seemed to numb her entirely to her own fatigue. After deflecting both his blade and then Carver’s before ducking low to avoid a sweep from Aveline, Meredith should have been slowing, but she was not. 

 

Anders threw magic where he could at the statues- ice to freeze them, flame to melt the stone to molten slag- but it was endless. Turning, Anders saw Sebastian being snatched by two statues, too close for Anders to hurl a spell or Sebastian to fight back. They shackled his wrists and bore him to the ground on his knees. All at once the statues were overwhelming them, a third bearing Varric to the ground where it held him pinned under a large stone foot. The crossbow bolt he managed to fire tore a strip into the cheek of the stone assailant but did nothing to remove it. Merrill was lifted from the floor in the arms of the statue of Andraste, her legs kicking wildly but her staff was on the floor, her arms pinned from casting. 

 

**Get the blood mage’s staff.**

 

Anders nodded needlessly, steeling himself to dash towards Merrill when Carver met the wall in a similar fashion Isabela had, only this time a statue pinned him there. It’s thick forearm held Carver by his throat, scrabbling his nails along the stone to fight free but only spending the last of his energy fruitlessly. Aveline and Fenris drew closer together, their focus on Meredith, as Anders hurled a fireball at the statue making to snatch Isabela. They were only four and they were tiring, even if Meredith was not. The statues remaining now had fewer assailants to worry about and Anders had to move back even further from Merrill’s dropped staff. All Anders had was what magic he could gather without the focus of a staff.

 

**Our mana dwindles** , Justice warned.

 

_ She isn’t stopping, what do we do? _

 

Justice was silent at that. Apparently the spirit wasn’t sure either, their solution of simply battling her into submission having not worked and had not presented them with any alternatives either. She was stronger, and the red lyrium powers overwhelmed the fact they outnumbered her. Anders wasn’t sure if even without the statues aiding her they would have been able to beat her as he helplessly watched Isabela be knocked down again, this time without his magic to aid her in getting up again.

 

Meredith turned suddenly, her eyes blazing red light in Anders’ direction, and for a moment Anders thought she was coming right for him but then he noticed she was looking past him. 

 

Looking behind and to his left, actually. 

 

Looking back at where the storage cupboard was. 

 

Anders turned and in a flash he saw Marian, her sack fabric dress stark against the chantry stone as Hawke slumped over the balcony and breathed hard. She had made it through Anders’ barrier, or his mana had dwindled enough to use it up, it didn’t matter- but she was there and Meredith looked as righteously furious as Anders had ever seen her. There was no way Marian hadn’t heard the fighting and of course she had dragged herself out to face it, to fight with them as though she could even stand. Hawke wasn’t the type to let others fight for her.

 

“Witch!” Meredith snarled, the dissonant echo of the fade twisted and distorted in her voice but nothing so twisted as the single-minded fixation that drove her to leap for Hawke. Aveline thrust out her shield to slam Meredith back but Meredith’s sword carved through it like a hot knife through butter and Aveline fell to one knee as she curled her arm into herself. Distantly, Anders could feel it- the injury, like a shared awareness. His magic itched to reach her but he had nothing. Flinging up her sword, Aveline had no way to block the kick Meredith lashed out with and while it didn’t count Aveline out entirely, it did move her from Meredith’s path. That was all Meredith needed.

 

Anders had no mana and no choice- he would not let Meredith hurt Hawke. He rushed Hawke, flinging his arms around her and curling her to the ground. The stomping scrape of Meredith’s plate boots rang in Anders’ ears and he found himself holding his breath when a screech of blade against blade jolted him, a lyrium white flash making him open his eyes.

 

Of course as fast as Meredith was, Fenris was faster. Meredith’s fixation on Hawke had blinded her to the other warrior and he’d streaked across to them in a breath of white-blue light. Fenris stood between them and Meredith like an immovable wall of rage. His brands blazed hot and his teeth were bared, as terrifying as a wild animal, and he pushed Meredith back a step seemingly in sheer surprise that he would dare to get in her way. Anders’ heart soared with pride and victory, Fenris could do this-  _ they _ could do this! They could defeat her!

 

“A-Anders…” Hawke tugged, weak but insistent, at Anders’ robe, “Y-you have to get the sword away from her,” Her voice sounded wrecked from the smoke she’d been choked by but still Hawke fought to speak, “the red lyrium, i-it…”

 

A gargled, choked sound had Anders’ attention whipping back to Fenris in time to see the elf’s sword fall with an almighty clang as it struck the ground, rattling Anders’ teeth. Meredith had her hand raised and Fenris’ feet were not touching the floor. He hung, suspended in the air, his hands grasping and clawing at his bared throat as if to pull something away that was not there. His eyes rolled as he choked and he tried to spit out something unintelligible.

 

“No!” Anders’ roared, crawling on his knees with his hands held high as he begged, “Please, mistress, please!”

 

The curl of a smile on Meredith’s face looked more like a wolf’s bared teeth as she looked down her nose at Anders’ prostrated form pleading at her feet. “So you do remember your place, mage,” She sneered, looking from Anders to Fenris as he choked in the grasp of the power gifted to her, “and you think to ask me to spare him? Do you think you  _ love _ him, Anders? That this slave might love you in turn? Have I taught you nothing?!” Meredith moved to the balcony edge, moving Fenris with her until he hung suspended over the gaping nothing beyond. Kirkwall’s ash choked sky stretched around them and on the cobbles far below people stopped to stare up in horror. The previous Guard-Captain was a striking enough figure at the distance and all could see him hanging in the air, thrashing wildly, as Meredith stretched out her arm and even if only those atop the chantry could hear her she roared out anyway, “You are not capable of it!”

 

Meredith gripped her sword in both hands, hefting it into the air and eyes locked onto Fenris. Anders’ entire body went cold and where he froze, Justice roared forward. The mana that had been trickling back flooded him like a dam bursting, Justice standing with no hint of the exhaustion Anders had felt and flinging their hand out. Magic engulfed Fenris in a barrier more powerful than Anders could manage even allowing for his inexperience, the spirit’s rage and connection to the fade making him a far more terrifying force to be reckoned with. Meredith’s sword fell and struck the barrier, a blast of red sparks exploding between the shield and the sword. The force of it knocked Fenris to the floor, skidding him along the rough stone and leaving him in a heaped slump before Anders, but it only brought Meredith to stagger back a step. She was made inhuman by the red lyrium fuelling her and even with Justice’s aid, Anders despaired that they could defeat her. 

 

“Abomination!” Meredith screamed, her fury turning to Anders in a terrifying mirror of what Anders knew his own appearance to look like when Justice took control. Where his fadelight shone blue and bright, hers was blistering red and for once the accusation rang hollow. It ran off Anders like he truly felt the lie of it, where once the word caused him nothing but pain. Whatever he was, it could not be worse than what Meredith was now. “I should have known you would risk your life for slaves and mages,” she spat, “Just as your own mother died trying to save you!”

 

Anders froze. The statement struck him as though the world had been tipped on it’s head, confusion swallowing the rage and fear that had urged Justice to act. The spirit slipped back once more, Anders perplexing reaction pushing the spirit to release command as Anders stared at Meredith in slack-jawed disbelief. “My… my mother? S-she… what?” 

 

“I should have killed you alongside her!” Meredith snarled.

 

Her sword raised and Anders could do nothing, still held rigid in shock as his mind reeled. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel his limbs even, until very suddenly he knew what the raised sword meant for him and he couldn’t change it.

 

“Anders!” Fenris voice wheezed from the floor, a warning as distant to Anders as the sound of the fighting far below them. All he could hear was his own breathing, rattling around his ringing ears as Meredith’s sword plunged into his chest with a sickening crunch. 

 

Meredith’s strength drove it through him, wholly. It speared through his back and pinned him onto the blade, drawing him closer to her manic grin. Pain gripped him, lancing through him as if delayed. It slammed into him as she jerked him forward a step, using the sword through him like a leash as he gurgled a wet sounding breath and his heart pounded frantically in his chest. A triumphant huff of laughter loosed itself from Meredith as she took in every inch of his pain, blood colouring Anders’ lips and strength leaving him. She pushed him back two steps, his side colliding with the balcony edge as she urged his back over the gaping nothing beyond the chantry edge. 

 

This wasn’t… this wasn’t supposed to happen. He wanted to kiss Fenris again. He wanted to walk the streets of Kirkwall and climb mountains. He wanted to wriggle his feet in the grass and stand in the rain with a thousand choices of where he could go, the paths he could take. He had thought they could win, that her hate would be defeated.

 

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt,” Meredith repeated the chantry verse as she tipped Anders further over the balcony edge. Her booming intonation had a gleeful edge in it’s otherworldly booming and it filled Anders’ ears as he felt himself slipping, “And the wicked and do not falter,” Anders’ vision blurred and he felt it in his gut, this was it. They had tried and they had failed. “Blessed are the peacekeepers- what?!”

 

Anders’ prone form, sagging with failing strength, reached out to Meredith. His hand gripped her wrist with fade split skin and searing blue eyes blazed fiercely at her from down the length of her sword. “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just,” Justice finished, his voice echoing in the still air as he hauled Meredith to him with no mind for the pain Anders’ body suffered. “Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.” Justice turned away from the ledge, shaking Meredith’s grip free as he grappled effortlessly with her. His blue light against her red as he urged her toward the void beyond the balcony instead. “In their blood the Maker’s will is written,” Justice declared, shoving Meredith over the edge with all the righteous fervour Meredith herself had claimed.

 

She cried out and at the last moment, as she fell into nothing, her hand managed to snag a around the sword’s handle as she fell back. It did not halt her fall but instead her tumbling over the edge along with the grip on the sword had Anders lurching after her. Meredith clung fast, the momentum carrying Anders fast even as Justice threw out a hand to cling to the stone wall. The grasp caught them both, wrenching the sword in Anders’ chest hard enough to shake through the human body Justice commanded. Justice looked down at Meredith, her rageful face now overtaken with fear and ringed in the smoke choked sky of the city she had terrorised. The command Justice had over Anders’ body would only hold so long as there was life in the body to command, after that Justice would be commanding a corpse but what was the use of this if Anders died? The red lyrium buried into his sternum was crackling unpleasantly but Meredith had been parted from it enough to be foiled, and Justice would see his task done.

 

Above them Fenris forced himself up, slumping over the stone wall and gripping hold of Anders’ blood slicked fingers clutching at the balustrade. He could see Meredith clinging to the sword and Justice terrifying blue light splitting Anders body. He could see the blood soaking Anders’ robe, the rivulets of it that ran down the blade were not stopping. Justice seemed unconcerned but Fenris had no idea what that meant, he only understand that had he or anyone else been struck through with that blow then they would be dead. It was difficult to stop the fear and panic from rendering him frozen at the idea that they could come this far and Anders would die.

 

Justice’s other hand wrapped around the blade where it was jammed into his chest, his gaze fixed on Meredith as she saw what he intended to do. He delighted in her fear, in the pleading on her face that he knew she had seen a thousand times on a thousand faces that she had shown no mercy to, so neither would Justice. He gripped tighter, the blade biting into Anders’ hand as he pulled. It only took a little and then gravity did the rest. Justice watched with open satisfaction as Meredith’s dawning comprehension twisted into terror. Her face twisted and she screamed out but Justice held no mercy in him after decades of seeing her treatment of Anders, of seeing what she had done to Kirkwall. She fell the rest of the way to the chantry steps and Justice did not look away. The sound of grinding metal filled the air as Meredith’s puppeted statues crumbling to dust as the red lyrium’s power faded, freeing the others. 

 

“Justice!” Fenris demanded, knowing with certainty that Anders could not possibly be unharmed from this as he watched the sword be torn from Anders body.

 

“Justice is done,” Justice decreed. With that, he faded and Anders’ body went limp in Fenris grasp. Barely, Fenris managed to hold on as the hand Justice had been holding on with went lax and the only thing that kept Anders from plummeting after Meredith was Fenris. 

 

Gritting his teeth and heaving, Fenris hauled Anders up enough to reach the man’s shoulders, hooking his arms under each of Anders’ arms and lifting the deadweight of Anders’ body over the stone wall. The mage had to be dead, Fenris thought as bile rose in his throat. They had come so far, they had won against all odds, and Anders had fallen. Fenris could not even feel joy at having seen Meredith fall. Knowing she was dead did little to ease him if Anders was too. Anders was warm in Fenris’ arms as he failed to support Anders, weakened as he was, and he fell to his knees. He turned Anders in his arms, seeking out the gaping wound the sword had left amidst the mess of blood stained robe. 

 

A spluttering breath, more blood than breath, startled Fenris. Anders couldn’t be alive after the wound he had received, it wasn’t possible, and there was a certain cruelty to having him alive only to bleed out in Fenris’ arms. He hushed the pained sound Anders made and pressed his palm to the bloodied mess of robe over Anders chest, but jumped in alarm. 

 

Under his hand, where he had expected to feel the carved out wound the sword had left, he felt nothing but firm chest. Too thin, as Fenris knew, but nothing at all like what should have been there. Alarmed, he pushed Anders’ torn robes apart and saw no wound but a scar. A scar knotted and pink, the shape Fenris might have expected after a miraculous and unlikely recovery- not mere seconds after receiving it.

 

“How?” Fenris marvelled, palm flat to Anders’ chest as he took in the sensation of Anders breathing. The proof of the mage’s defiant living a balm to the cold grief that had been choking Fenris. 

 

Anders coughed and blood flecked his lips, but it seemed to be clearing his throat as he spoke with shaky words, “I think… I think Justice, he…” curiously, Anders pressed his hand over Fenris’ hand and they looked at each other, torn between marvelling and fearing the power the spirit displayed in this one act.

 

“He saved you,” Fenris hazarded. The spirit had seemed to fold into Anders, blinked away after his task had been completed, but his last act had been to defiantly snatch Anders life back to him and in doing so deny Meredith’s last cruelty. 

 

Anders swallowed, a weak huff leaving him as he tried to sit up but Fenris refused to let him, “I suppose he did.”

 

The reality of it seemed to seep into Fenris, as slow as a wave and mirrored in Anders’ lopsided smile as they knelt there. 

 

Meredith had fallen. 

 

They had won. Anders, and all of Kirkwall, were free. 

 

As easy as breathing, Fenris leaned into Anders and kissed him. Anders made a startled sound, caught between the press of their mouths, but he kissed back with slow relief before remembering. “But, Hawke-”

 

Fenris raised an eyebrow, looking over to where the others were dusting themselves off and picking themselves from the ground. Hawke appeared to have found a comfortable place to rest against Isabela’s newly made flesh bosom. “I think Hawke is fine,” Fenris observed.

 

A laugh escaped Anders as he saw Isabela wink at him, her arm around Hawke’s shoulders. “So she is,” Anders agreed.

 

With careful hands Fenris aided Anders in standing, supporting the mage as he regained strength slowly. The spirit’s work was alarming but effective, and Fenris had trouble finding fault with it when he had thought Anders lost to him. 

 

“Blondie!” Varric cried jovially, arms spread wide, “Gotta say, you know how to put on a show.”

 

Aveline, nursing her injured arm, ignored Fenris’ clear frown as she turned Anders to face her. With the same critical eye Anders had grown knowing so well she looked him over, parting the tear in his robes as Fenris had done to see his newly scarred chest. “Justice,” she breathed, not a question even as Anders nodded. “Well, it seems the spirit was of use after all.” She smiled her small, hard won smile, and for the first time in his life when she pulled him close she felt warm. 

 

Anders buried his face in her neck and held her tight, apologising when he squeezed bruises and injuries, but so grateful to see her whole. Sebastian’s hand was warm on Anders’ shoulder as he pulled back, as flesh as Aveline and Isabela, and Anders couldn’t resist hugging Sebastian too. 

 

“We’re free,” Isabela sighed, relieved and content with the news.

 

Sebastian nodded, patting Anders’ back, “And Meredith has finally paid for her crimes.”

 

Orsino spoke up suddenly, “I am sorry, for what was done to you. Meredith, she… she is no excuse, but I… I saw no ending for any of us that would not have been death that night, and… and it was anyway.”

 

“Word of the annulment only reached me after it had begun,” Sebastian blinked, surprised at his own words, “Maker, it feels good to be able to say even a word about it after all this time.”

 

“So, what actually happened?” Varric urged, curiously hanging on each word now that the statues could speak.

 

“Sebastian brought me proof of the Divine’s rejection of the annulment. The letter had come the day prior and there was word that Meredith was going to act anyway. I had what I needed to defy Meredith’s actions,” Aveline added. There was an almost palpable relief to her words, as though saying them was removing a weight from her. “I hired Isabela to evacuate as many mages from Kirkwall’s circle as her ship could carry. Orsino was supposed to secure as many mages as he could in the chantry…” She trailed off with a hard glare at the mage who looked away, shamed.

 

“It was a trap,” Orsino finished, “She had me lure the mage sympathisers to the chantry and for my service she assured me the annulment would not go ahead. It was better, she said, to weed at those so foolish to see us as people.” He laughed bitterly, “Of course it was a lie.”

 

Isabela gave a wry smile as Orsino fell silent. “Didn’t really work out for us, but at least we lived I suppose.”

 

“We didn’t have people to miss us, not really,” Sebastian added, “Aveline and myself were chalked up to deaths in the chaos of the annulment, some blood mages Meredith was sadly unable to stop. It all added to her story and in the aftermath she was hailed as a hero for protecting Kirkwall from the biggest mage uprising ever seen.” It was a harrowing story that gave them all pause, Varric’s quick note taking on paper he had produced pausing to let the reality of it sink in. 

 

Meredith’s recent crimes were well known but with the main sufferers of her past transgressions silenced, there had been no one to remember them. She had gotten away with slaughter and in doing so made herself into Kirkwall’s absolute leader. 

 

“I knew it,” Hawke wearily smirked.

 

Varric snorted, “You did not.”

 

“I knew the proof of Meredith’s crimes we were looking for were the statues I told you about,” Hawke insisted, glaring at Varric from her comfortable position against Isabela’s chest. “If she hadn’t have seized your brother’s red lyrium from the failed expedition, we would have been able to prove it to the chantry.”

 

“Doubtful, and that was not a failed expedition.”

 

“Bartrand sealed us in the thaig and left us for dead! Without Nathaniel’s maps we’d never have gotten out and been able to free Kirkwall.”

 

“Sounds to me like the expedition was the single important thing here, Hawke,” Varric teased.

 

“Wait, who told you about us?” Isabela interrupted the bickering, curiously picking out the single detail that had Anders cocking his head curiously as well.

 

“That,” A voice not among their gathered group broke in, “would be me.” At the chantry tower doorway three men were cautiously approaching with their weapons sheathed. 

 

“Samson?” Fenris queried, gaze flicking to the two others. “Knight-Captain Cullen, First Lieutenant Donnic.” He greeted each in turn and Donnic and Cullen inclined their heads in a bow of respect, despite all of them being aware he no longer held the title of Guard Captain. Samson simply nodded before turning to Hawke. 

 

They were interrupted by a joyous bark as Chip barrelled through Donnic and Cullen to stampede up to Hawke and lavish her face with broad swipes of his tongue. Hawke shrieked in delight, wrapping her arms around her mabari and cooing adoringly at him. A woman who had been behind Chip went immediately for Carver, cupping his face as he hugged her gratefully. Fenris did not miss the murmured words but he looked away as Leandra held her son and Merrill cheerfully assured Leandra that while they were not dead, they had come very close.

 

“You sent the letter?” Hawke frowned, calmer now her mabari was close but still suspicious of the former templar who had confessed his part in leading her to the chantry. “Why?”

 

He gave a rougish grin and crossed his arms, “After the stir you caused at the Chantry Circle Festival you seemed to be the right person to see Meredith’s madness ended.”

 

“... thanks?” Hawke puzzled it over a moment more, “I think?”

 

With no mind for the conversation that was happening, and ever the professional guardsman, Donnic saluted Fenris as had been his way for so long, even after working so closely and even after Fenris losing the title it seemed a habit he wasn’t inclined to break yet. “The fighting has stopped below, but the guardsmen are unsure of how to proceed.”

 

Fenris tsked, “I am no longer the Guard Captain, Donnic.”

 

“With all due respect, we still need a new one and I see no reason you shouldn’t be reinstated.” 

 

Fenris could think of several, not least of which that he really didn’t want to. Not at the moment. At the moment all he wanted was to rest and preferably with Anders close by. He looked askance at Aveline and paused in thought. “What about an old Guard Captain?”

 

“I… pardon?” Aveline blinked.

 

“I think Fenris just called you old,” Isabela cheerfully explained, Hawke muffling a winded snigger in her arm at that, “Though I suppose… technically, we are old.”

 

Fenris ignored the pirate, “Donnic, allow me to introduce Aveline.”

 

Stunned, Donnic looked Aveline over in much the same way she looked him over. “Uh… pleased to meet you, ma’am?”

  
“And you…” She trailed off before collecting herself and adding, “Aveline Vallen, former Guard Captain.”

 

Donnic’s surprise only increased and he gaped at her. “ _ The _ Aveline Vallen? You went missing over thirty years ago!”

 

“And now we know why,” Varric was still furiously scribbling on his paper but flashed a grin before continuing. “I love it when a plot comes full circle.”

 

The conversation continued but Anders was pulled away from it by Fenris’ fingers brushing against his hand. He turned toward Fenris and smiled, his stomach twisting in knots at the intense look Fenris was giving him. Sometimes, despite Fenris’ best efforts, he was very readable. Anders knew there were many who would disagree but he liked to think the reading lessons, their time together, the slow way he had come to understand Fenris just a little at a time, all meant that he knew Fenris in a way few were privileged to.

  
“I believe you interrupted something before,” Fenris said softly, drawing Anders away from the group a little.

 

“I did?”

 

“You were concerned about Hawke. Has that matter been cleared up for you?”

 

Looking at Isabela and Hawke, Anders inclined his head in a slow nod. He was in no way prepared to argue with the arm Isabela had placed around Hawke that Hawke had been happy to leave there. 

 

“Perhaps,” he teased, his stomach fluttering at the fierce smirk his teasing garnered.

 

“Then let me make it clearer for you.” Fenris tugged Anders down by his collar, pressing their mouths together harder than he had before. It drove Anders’ breath from him with it’s hungry need, leaving him fumbling after Fenris in half-caught breaths as Fenris paid little mind to Anders fumbling kisses. He seemed to appreciate the enthusiasm and Anders was a quick study. 

 

They ignored Isabela’s wolf whistle and did not think on what would come after that moment. It didn’t matter yet. All that did matter was each of them, alive and whole, and free to choose their own paths.

 

“What happens now?” Anders asked, breathless as they broke apart.

 

Fenris smiled, “Anything. Anything we want.”

 

\---

 

“That can’t be the end!” The wide eyed human girl who had watched through Varric’s story with a slightly parted mouth blurted out suddenly, startling the other four children who had been there from the start as well as the small crowd of others who had gathered as the story continued.

 

“Oh?” Varric prompted her. His question had her pausing, shyness taking her conviction for just a moment before she scowled and stomped her foot. Her father had already come to try and collect her three times but she had been so enraptured that each time the quiet child had shrieked in protest.

 

She scrunched up her nose at Varric, but it was an older child who asked  “What about Fenris’ master? Dan-nar… Da-ner…”

 

“Danarius? Oh, that’s quite another story.” Varric cringed at that particular memory, but as he had said it was a story and a half. 

 

“It’s a different story?” A young elf boy cocked his head curiously. “Isn’t it part of their story?”

 

“Yeesh, tough crowd,” He chuckled, “In a way, I suppose. Stories don’t have to be whole lives, but your whole life can be full of stories,” Varric shrugged, just enough vague crypticism to be apparently meaningful on the surface. It certainly gave the gathered crowd pause as they turned over the phrase in their minds and seemed to glean their own meaning from it. 

  
“But you didn’t say ‘and they lived happily ever after’,” The human girl insisted, finding her voice once more. Despite himself, Varric was starting to like her.

 

The elf beside her suddenly looked stricken, “They do live happily ever after, right?”

 

Varric chuckled again, thinking of the frequent bickering and making up the two of them did now. He thought of all the places the two visited, all the letters he received of the things they had done and the gifts to pass on to the others. He thought of the other stories they’d lived and how none had broken them, none had shaken them from that strength they had found in each other. It was so trite he couldn’t have made it up if he tried and he smiled at the children, “Yeah, kids, they do.”

 

The older child still seemed upset however, “What happened to Chip?”

 

“To who now?”

 

“Hawke’s mabari!” Oh this kid was definitely a Fereldan, Varric noted. 

 

“Uh… he lived happily ever after, too?” 

 

“Oh, Varric,” Hawke’s voice parted the crowd immediately as Kirkwall’s champion strode forward, Chip at her side as Kirkwall’s citizens knew he would always be, “Did you leave my bravest companion out of the story again?” Chip huffed unhappily, but the delighted patting from the children he settled by seemed to mollify him.

 

“I would never! I kept him in this time. As for a happy ending, um...” Varric scratched at his chin thoughtfully as Hawke leaned against the wheel of the cart, “Chip became the most well known mabari after Hawke became Champion of Kirkwall and got frequent belly rubs and treats. There, happy?”

 

“I am always happy,” Hawke grinned at the crowd, “Fenris and Anders, though… they really do live happily ever after.”

 

They really, really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it folks. :) Sorry it took so long, but as you can see it was a bit of a mammoth to wrap up.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr: akaiba.tumblr.com


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